24 Hours in Peter Parker's Life
by Quinhwyvar
Summary: Peter's to-do list is longer than he can remember. He's got a test to study for, sleep to catch up on, an aunt to keep calm and unexplained feelings that appear around MJ. Thankfully it's Saturday. He can play catch up. Unfortunately this is the story of how Peter almost studies, angers a librarian, goes on a maybe date, breaks into museums and accidentally takes a ballet class.
1. 2:00 am

**2:00 am**

"You know, I made a bet that something interesting was going to happen on a Friday night at 2 a.m." Spider-Man dropped down from a web in the middle of the masked men. "Thanks for helping me win."

The thieves didn't seem to appreciate the humor in the middle of the courtyard at MoMa. All five of them froze at the sound of his voice. Peter slipped completely to the ground in between all of them. The bad guys started through the usual reactions of being caught in the act.

First, someone yelled.

It used to be "Who the hell are you?". Then it morphed into "Spider-Man!". Now that he was a bit more popular in his line of work and let's be honest here, a little bit better at it, the shouting has degraded into the following:

"God damn it! Run!" the man dressed in black screamed in an odd accent that he couldn't place.

The five men were in the process of wrapping straps around a black statue of a curvy lady. Peter had only been swinging by and doing one last check when he saw something strange in the courtyard of the building. The statue kinda looked like art. In a way. It was some sort of dark bronze and larger than him.

What constituted art anyways? He tried to remember the result of the forty minute argument in his art class.

He forgot step two of bad people panicking.

The bullet whizzed in front of his nose as he jerked back reflexively. His spider sense tickled in his head.

People liked to shoot him.

It used to bother him.

But that was before he went and fought Captain America and the Vulture. Bullets didn't sting that much after that. It was all about perspective, right?

The gun rung out again and Peter jumped onto another statue in the courtyard. It was another busty lady. He shuffled his hands to her shoulders since they had previously all been in the wrong places.

"Alright, enough of that. I've got to make it home in one piece please." He shot web onto the muzzle of the gun and yanked. The gun rattled across the tile and fell into the little pond.

The third step was most reliable. It was one of those 100% chance things.

They ran.

Three of the five already had already started. A square hole in the ground was clearly what they were going to. Peter prioritized. The other two guys were just running straps around the statue and clearly they weren't going to get anywhere with it. The walls of the courtyard were high and if he covered the hole, there would be nowhere else to go. He sprung off the statue he was on.

The courtyard was dark except for the security lights coloring everything into different shades of gray and red.

"I think we should chat for a moment," Peter said as he landed between the men and their escape hole. "You know, appreciate the art that you are trying to steal and all? Do you even know who made that one? I can't remember."

The man closest to his landing spot skidded so quickly that his feet flew out from him. Both Peter and the other two watched him heroically pinwheel his arms and yell. The thief fell hard onto the ground. His head smacked against the concrete with a strange sound.

They looked at the sprawled out body. He started groaning and curled onto his side to Peter's relief.

"Oh man. He's going to need some help. Thankfully I already called the police three minutes ago." Peter jerked his wrist, sending webbing locking both of still standing men's feet to the ground. "You all just stay still. I can't have any more of those falls. Good plan?"

He gave them thumbs up as if they were going to do it back.

They didn't.

That was okay.

Peter couldn't help the smile that was on his face. Being this, doing this, it felt so good. He could play as Spider-Man in ways that Peter Parker would never have the chance.

The buzzing noise was what got him to spin around on his heel. He made a bit of a miscalculation. The fat lady statue wasn't where it had been before. Instead it was flying.

The sight was so strange that his mind needed to take a second to believe it.

The bronze statue was disappearing into the night with the two remaining men hanging off of her like monkeys. Karen's voice helpfully chimed in his ears: Those are four 7000-Type CK Drones, Stark design although heavily altered. I'm afraid I cannot hack them, Peter. With a flickering light, the screen showed the machines that were pulling the statue away by the ropes that he didn't care about.

"Uhhh…" The smoothness of his voice was replaced with staccato notes as he looked between the captured men and the woman flying away. "They'll be by for you soon. Promise!"

He yanked himself into the sky. The air sucked as his arms and chest as he pulled himself up hard to gain a strong momentum. The courtyard miniaturized and as he swung to the left to follow the drones, he saw the police cars in the distance, their red and blue lights shining. Good. Peter checked that off.

The drones gained almost too much distance on him. The higher that they got in the sky, the more impossible it was to see the almost black statue. Karen strained to keep track of it. The wind pulled against his suit and his legs stretched back towards the ground as the speed worked against him.

Letting go of the web thrilled him. The pure projection of flying through the sky before the next webshot connected and the jerk of arching with the new thread made his heart sing.

But there wasn't time to dwell on that.

There were more baddies to catch.

The woman disappeared around another corner of a building sharply. Peter had spin out another web in a wild attempt to catch part of that tower so he didn't miss the turn entirely. It didn't make it in time, sticking a moment too late, meaning that if Peter had held on, it would have rammed him directly into the next block's apartment buildings.

Instead, he let go, spinning freely in the air over and over as the cars and the road approached too rapidly for anyone's taste. The air hissed in his ears. Another web deployed into the multicolored mess of New York City. Peter held onto it with both hands bracing for the impact as it yanked tight and spiraled him in right direction.

His thigh clipped against the top of a taxi before he was off flying. Something ripped. Fresh air tickled up his leg. That would have to be for later.

His breath pumped in his lungs as his eyes tried to seek out the drones.

A foot disappeared around another bend.

They were doing their best to loose him.

It was on the verge of working.

His stomach started to growl. Seriously? Now? Hadn't he had dinner at seven?

He shot out another web to swing after the artwork.

That hamburger was a busy sixish hours ago.

Maybe he'd stop at Jo's on the way back. Spider-Man got a discounted rate on pizza there.

Turning the corner, the city disappeared into the blackness of the sea. There was nothing to swing onto. Peter flew out into open air and his stomach dropped to the ground as his mind went blank with the lack of possibilities. He scrambled to pull himself back before he swung into nothingness and would have had to take a dive instead. Little cruise ships sparkled against the dark waters. The drones yanked the woman far over the Hudson, completely out of range.

Then the little red lights on the machines winked at him one last time and then shut off. The statue disappeared entirely.

Peter hung onto a porch looking over the view. His chest burned as he forced his breathing to slow down. Somehow he should have thought of that one. He sat himself on the arm rail. Okay. Peter squashed the disappointment in his throat. That didn't go as planned. They would strike again and he would be better next time. That would be the hope anyways.

Again his stomach growled.

Maybe it would be Joe's.

Or Aunt May's leftovers?

The ships slipped across the water noiselessly but none illuminated the stolen statue. He shivered in the breeze. The adrenaline left him and the time of night hung against his shoulders.

Man. Doing Ms. Gardiner's extra credit assignment would have been great tonight. He checked out the time on the interface. 2:44 am.

The subway rattled behind him. Did he have time to do that? It was an extra worksheet in addition to the regular homework that was due on Monday. He tapped the railing. He wasn't failing the class…yet.

"Excuse me. What are you doing?"

A couple and a small dog stood at the cracked open sliding glass door. Peter swung a leg over, saddling the railing and put up his hands.

"Hey, sorry about this. I was just taking a quick breather. I'll get on my way." It was probably best anyways. Food and homework called his name. They stood there staring at him in confusion. He swung his other leg over so he was facing them. Going off the railing backwards would be the easiest at this point.

They didn't say anything else so he waved again and started to lean back. "Have a good night!"

"Wait!" The woman stepped through causing Peter to yank himself forward painfully. The railing squealed.

"Can we have an autograph?"

The smile was forced on his face. "Of course."

And with that, he stepped onto the porch. It was almost three now. His stomach hurt and the seconds of doing this tapped against his back. He needed to get going but how could he say no?

* * *

_Here we go again! I can't seem to get away from Spider-Man it seems._

_A couple notes about this story. This is a 24 hour story, meaning that every hour from 2 a.m. Friday night/Saturday morning to 2 a.m. on Saturday night/Sunday morning will be represented (except for two occasions in which this poor kid has to sleep). Not every hour will be represented as you expect. I first heard this structure idea from Kate Cavanaugh on YouTube. _

_This is also a slice-of-life story. There is a general plot but we will wander into hilarity and tomfoolery. I promise._

_My personal challenge was to see how realistic I could make Peter's life without being boring. Let's see if I succeed._

_As I write this, I am actually working on the finale. I'm strangely at the beginning and end of this story now._

_What do you think? Do you like it so far? Who is ready for some art thefts and Peter trying to keep on top of everything?_

_Thank you for reading and see you next week._

_-Quin_


	2. 3:00 am

**3:00 a.m.**

The bells of Joe's Best Pizza rung as Spider-Man pushed through the door. The smell of grease and heat were too strong for the filters in his mask. He had tried to make it home but Joe's was perfectly between the main part of the city and his room's window. How was he supposed to say no to that?

He couldn't do this all the time but this late night pizza thing wasn't a habit yet. He was sure of that.

Hattie looked up from her book at the counter and a grin rolled across her face. This was the only old woman that he knew that enjoyed staying up late.

"The Spider-Man! I heard you were up to business tonight." The worn paperback dropped from her fingers. "The usual?"

"Yes ma'am."

The diner was completely empty of customers. He slid into the bubble gum pink booth in the back, feeling completely comfortable in the suit. Speaking of the suit, he pulled up his leg. A four inch tear appeared on the thigh. Aesthetically it didn't matter but it bothered Karen incredibly. One of the secondary power systems was housed near the black cuff of the knee joint. The tear disconnected some things that probably should try to get fixed.

Hattie yelled at Joe to warm up "Spider-Man's pizza" in her Russian accent.

Okay. Maybe coming here was a daily occurrence.

The radio rambled on. Peter swore that this place had opened before he was born and no one ever tried to update it. The wood paneling was on the verge of suffocating and several of the checkered tiles peeled.

He pulled out his phone from his pocket and propped his elbows up on the table. It was only 50 unread notifications and half of them were from Ned freaking out and sending him newly released photos from NASA of a black hole and videos of cats doing dumb things. That was what they were into right now. Ned still hadn't been able to top Peter's "Cat Runs Into Clingwrap".

When Peter first got the suit, the phone hadn't been able to read through the gloves. It was a real rough week until finally he brought the issue to Mr. Stark. He'd rolled his eyes but finally fixed it so he could "scroll his Instagram and answer his girlfriend's texts in peace on rooftops."

Both of those things were unfortunately not true.

He checked the time. It was past three now. Things were starting to be a little dicey. He had to sleep but greasy and cheap pizza was so good. The lenses of the mask hummed as they adjusted and readjusted to lights. That was new. He glanced up. One of the ceiling box lights ever so slightly flickered.

Hattie came over and sat on the opposite side. Her white curls were starting to unwind.

"It'll be a minute." She offered him a deck of cards. "Do you still remember the rules?"

He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. Peter set the phone face down on the table so if Ned freaked out of his pre-prepped and now sent video of "Cat Eats Cactus" Hattie wouldn't see any names.

She smiled at him and that broke him.

"Rummy right?" He took the cards and started to shuffle them on the table. The cards snapped against each other even though they were soft with age through his gloves. The diner lights hummed barely in his ears. The front windows were completely dark, even most of the taxi drivers had gone to bed.

"Gin rum and you deal." She corrected him.

He nodded as he started to toss cards at her, mentally counting to ten. If there was ever place he wanted to take off his mask, it would have been here. Instead, the pizza was always a to go order and they never asked.

"Busy day?" She asked as scowled at her cards. "Are you cheating and giving me all the bad cards?"

"No, Mrs. Dotson. I'm too tired."

The cards flickered in his fingers as the light died and came back. He looked at his own cards. It wasn't a too bad hand if he remembered the rules. The radio dove through another song. There was something about these dead hours. It felt like the world was much smaller than it was.

The ceiling light snapped off and started strobing.

"Sorry," Hattie growled and pulled a card from the deck before putting down her hand. "Damn light. One moment."

"Have you had an electrician out, Mrs. Dotson?" He leaned back and stared at the light. Karen started scanning for the electrical wires inside but it couldn't penetrate the ceiling tiles this far away. He would have to be closer to see the problem.

"Why pay when you can do this?" She asked over her shoulder.

She snapped the light off. The room dipped into into an infrared reds and oranges for Peter before Karen flipped it to night vision. He'd played around in his room in darkness trying to decide which filter he liked better. Usually the suit decided if he was on the fly. He saw everything at night anyways but the help was useful. The lenses bloomed out as the light came back on and full color returned.

"Behave!" She shouted. The ceiling light behaved.

"See? It works." Hattie sat back down in the booth and discarded a card.

"Why are you still open? I thought you closed at 2?" He swallowed a yawn and took her discarded card before replacing it with one of his. Karen's system started to help him beat the old lady but he dismissed it. The pizza smell drifted in.

"Ah. We do."

Peter's stomach growled.

She smiled and took a card before discarding another. "For a hungry superhero, we are open."

"You didn't have to do that. You should go to bed." He looked at his cards, searching for matches before taking the top card. The queen of spades winked at him so he discarded a two of hearts. His eyes hurt. Was that normal when you were this tired? Mrs. Dotson had insisted on playing once when they had to make his pizza from scratch.

"Are you setting me up for a good hand?" Joe pushed open the door from the kitchen with the pizza box in hand

"I think so Mr. Dotson." Peter folded the cards against the table and got up. The namesake of the restaurant came over. He was the complete opposite of who would run a pizza place and dwarfed Peter in size. Joe always looked like he was about to go out hunting and drag the deer home himself.

"What do I owe you? Eight dollars?"

"Two." He put the box on the table.

"I'll pay you the regular. Lemme see what I've got." He reached into the pocket where he kept his phone and a few emergency dollars. Every time he would try to give the full amount and they would refuse. Still, he would try again. The pocket was flush with his thigh, the fabric unblemished and smooth to the touch. His cheeks went warm as he stretched the pocket. Nothing inside. Where had the money gone?

The vending machine near Time Square yesterday. He had to grab a bottle of water to wash out a scrape from a running into a street sign.

He mumbled to himself as he tried the other pocket that he didn't keep anything in. He'd have to tell them to keep the pizza.

"Bring us the money later." The smile from Hattie was too sweet for Peter. He scrambled to check the first pocket again. The awkwardness was building in his hungry stomach. How could he have forgotten about this?

"No, no, no…" He put the pizza on the table. "Ahhh…" He spun around in a circle trying to think and then realized his hands were waving around on their own and he froze. Two honest faces watched him. The light flickered again.

"Do you happen to have a screwdriver?"

Peter made it home half an hour later and was only slightly fried for his efforts to fix the light. In the end, the light was going to permanently behave. Karen had shown him the faulty wiring and he only had to figure out how to rewire it. Somehow at three a.m., this seemed so much easier in his mind than it actually was.

The couple had ended up continuing to play their gin rummy game while he fixed it. Joe had said his hand wasn't half bad. That gave Peter some pride.

The pizza box slid across his breakfast table in the half dark as he collapsed into the chair. Ms. Gardiner's extra credit assignment was going to have to wait. He had texted Ned to give him a preview of how hard the assignment was. All he had gotten back was nervous emojis. Bad sign.

He ripped the mask off. Cold free air touched his sweaty face. He sucked in a breath completely unhindered by the suit and filled his chest until it strained against the pressure. Releasing it unwound all the stress in his body. He sprawled further horizontal in the chair. Closing his eyes, he listened. The apartment was completely quiet. Aunt May's door was closed. She hardly stayed up for him anymore.

He popped open the pizza. It was a little smashed to one side but he didn't care. It tasted like it was melting in his mouth. He leaned forward on the table and without any shame, stuffed his face.

Then he started to slow down.

He leaned back.

He should get that assignment maybe.

He should repair the suit.

He should do something.

His eyes closed.

And it was over.

* * *

_I always wonder...can you tell when I am having an absolute blast writing a chapter? _

_Spider-Man playing gin rummy with two nocturnal old people in a pizza diner at 3 a.m.? Completely my cup of tea. _

_ While this is whole thing was fun to write, this chapter among a few others (10:00/11:00/3:00 off the top of my head) that flew by because I enjoyed them so much. I can't wait to share them with you._

_What do you think? _

_Thanks for reading as always._

_-Quin_


	3. 4:00-8:00 am

**4:00 a.m.**

"Peter."

"_Peter_."

"Hmm huh?"

"Go to bed."

"What?"

"It's four in the morning and you're sleeping on the table. Don't scare me like that. Go sleep in your bed."

"May…?"

"Come on silly goose. Up you go. This suit is filthy. Take it off. I'll throw it in the wash tonight."

"I can walk…"

"Why do you smell like burnt electronics?"

"Long story."

"Why is the suit ripped up?"

"Another long story."

"Leave the suit outside your door and go to bed."

"Okay."

"Also fair warning I'm going to eat some of that cold pizza."

"Okay."

"Night Peter. Love you."

"Okay."


	4. 9:00 am

**9:00 a.m.**

Peter only got up because of the pancake smell. The vanilla from the batter filled the entirety of his room and by extension the whole apartment. There might not be a better way to wake up on a Saturday but to the smell of pancakes.

Pulling on a shirt bit into his shoulders. Going so fast through the city and that abrupt halt at the edge of the Hudson had a cost. When his arms lifted, his shoulders expressed how angry they were. His back looked okay in the mirror. The muscle hadn't ripped or bruised. There had been days when he'd done the check and looked like an abstract paintings.

Those were the rough days.

He watched his hands shake as he held his toothbrush. He wasn't sure that one was about. Well, it was probably exhaustion.

May had already stacked up his plate as he came tottering out of the bathroom.

"Good morning bear, eat up." She pointed her spatula at the pile.

He arranged himself in the chair and scrubbed his hand through his hair. The words registered.

"I'm not a bear."

"Eat first. Argue later." May turned back with a laugh in her voice. More pancakes sizzled in the pan. She was dressed. That meant something. She had to be going somewhere. He tried to scrape his mind on what that could be. She had mentioned something about…an event at some point. She wasn't really dressed up so it couldn't be for work.

He chewed through the pancakes.

"Are you excited about going to that book signing thing today?" He tried. A glass of orange juice had appeared magically nearby him while he was thinking. He emptied it.

May pulled the chair back opposite of him and sat in it. The smile on her face told him just how wrong he was.

"That was last week and I had a pretty good time, I mean, I got books signed so that was the point." She started in on her own pancakes not being able to suppress her amusement. The recipe was his mother's. After the whole spider thing came out and they went through the whole you're-a-superhero-isn't-that-dangerous, they had decided to make an effort to be together at least once a week. Figuring out they both liked the pancakes made the rest simple.

"Sorry," He mumbled.

"Today I have to run some errands but I wanted to talk to you about this, mister."

A printout on the table was pushed in front of him. The fork stopped on the way to his mouth. The chart was easy to read. If his shoulders had hurt before, the feeling doubled as the muscles knitted themselves together. His breathing ticked up. The fork went back on the plate.

Report cards had been emailed out yesterday.

The grades…weren't ideal.

She raised her eyebrows dubiously as she chewed through her breakfast. He blew out a breath, leaned back in the chair and then came forward to press his arms against the table. With her mouth still full, she pointed her syrup covered knife at the letters.

"I've really been trying, May. You know it's been tricky with all this superhero stuff and I did miss that one exam but at the time I was kinda under that building that collapsed on 70th. I know that's just an excuse and I'm going to be filled with them." He couldn't look at her. Instead he folded his hands over and over. "I'll do better."

She didn't say anything. The silence was worse. Peter kept talking and his voice rose higher. "A couple teachers have talked to me after class. I know they say I'm smarter than this. I don't know if I am. I was going to do extra credit last night and I'm going to the library to hang out with Ned today and do…stuff…"

That didn't sound any better. In fact, that excuse sounded worse. His head started to spin.

May interrupted his self destruction. "Peter."

"Yeah?" He stared at her plate. The porcelain was chipped on the edge. They should probably sand it or something before either one of them cut an artery and bled out on the kitchen floor or got hurt or the plate would shatter. It might be more liable without-

"Peter, look at me."

The direct tone got his attention. His eyes jerked up and she looked at him steadily. It was the same look she had when she had to lay it out to him. The last time she had done this was when he needed to stop doing so many experiments with the Stark tech because the electricity bill was too high. She lifted the paper so he would have to see both it and her. It crinkled between her two fingers. He didn't know what to focus on and he couldn't look at both.

"This is pretty good." A grin broke out over her face and she dropped the report back on the table.

"My ears aren't working…did you say that these were 'pretty good'?" He ran over the words again and again but the meaning stayed the same.

"Don't let that get to you." She pointed to the Cs that were there. "These aren't great. We'll work on those but with all the superhero adjustments, I'm not going to grill you."

The tension disappeared and he leaned up against the table. A real smile matched hers.

"Really?"

"Really but this is your second chance. I want to see some of these improve." She was serious. Aunt May didn't back down when she made a promise to him like that. If he didn't improve, they were going to have another conversation. One that he was sure that he didn't want to have.

"Right. Man, thanks."

"Don't thank me yet. So what's the plan is for pre-cal?"

"Oh. That."

It was about thirty minutes later when Peter left the apartment. The backpack pulled against his chest but he hardly noticed as he sprinted to catch his subway into the city. It used to be that he couldn't carry more than two textbooks at the same time. Now there were four books and a chromebook from school on his back, plus a cookbook that Aunt May had asked him to return.

It was strange how much his life had changed. He dodged past some people and sprinted up the stairs. He could hear the subway rattling into the station. His converse slapped against the ground. Before, he dreamed of being something different, something exciting, something that people would pay attention to. While his grades had been good, they had never made him amazing. Socially he was walled off from being cool. Peter Parker had been in the shadow of people's minds. Now he had that dream. Well, he could have that.

Hot steam off the subway rolled over the crowd but he hadn't even broken into a sweat from run. Where was he now then? He thought about people finding out and what would happen to his friends and family. It would be neat for approximately three seconds and then the danger kicked in.

Sure, Peter Parker wasn't cool. He wasn't invited to parties. His grades were slipping. He took the subway like every other New Yorker.

What a boring guy.

But Spider-Man remained in his backpack.

He was okay with that. Spider-Man was a high pressure job. Peter popped in his earbuds and tapped his toe to the beat of the music. Worrying about school was annoying. Not having any free time would make anyone nuts. The lack of sleep was incredibly unhealthy. He thrived on it. Peter Parker wasn't really a boring guy. He was a kid that happened to be a real life secret superhero.

How cool was that?

Of course it would come with good times and bad times.

With midterms right now, it was swinging into those bad times but May had just released a bit of that pressure.

Thank his lucky stars for Aunt May.

He shook his head at that thought. That was something that he never thought would cross his mind. After the expected freakout, May had rolled with the punches and become one of the most stabilizing forces in his life. Late night talks about supervillains, extra large dinners cooked at strange hours, peptalks he never expected, 4 a.m. reminders to go to actual bed, May delivered all of these with a firm sense of love and no nonsense.

With that came added pressure. He had to be okay, to stay safe, to keep out of real trouble, to come home safely every night. He could handle that. Some things stayed under the table. He never mentioned how often he was shot at. Guilt curled in his stomach but it was for the best.

The subway swayed to a stop and he watched people pile on.

Peter stretched and pulled out his phone to start drilling some flashcards for the pre-cal exam. One thing at a time. For this moment, that "one thing" was to make sure that he was ready for the test from hell 9 a.m. on Monday. So he got on with memorizing the laws of sines and cosines.

* * *

_Surprise! Double upload. Plus I thought I would drop that first one early. I__'m sure a couple readers who know me got that notification at 11 p.m. or later on Friday and went "Is Quin okay?". Haha. _

_In any case...I've always called the end of this chapter "Peter thinks a lot". Also, if you thought we were going to go without the dread "report card" talk, then you are quite mistaken. At least I tried to put my own spin on it._

_Let me know what you think!_

_Stay safe out there._

_Thank you for reading as always,_

_Quin_


	5. 10:00 am

**10:00 a.m.**

Peter reread the same paragraph for the fifth time hoping that the second cup of coffee was going to help him. He let out a sigh as his stomach twisted. The simple words didn't make any sense. The Mulberry Library was a mix of noises as students like him were trying to have a good time getting their homework done. Peter's fingers drummed against the paper cup. The cheap coffee shop up the block was another motivator for all of them. A coffee shop that he was going to revisit soon.

Since Spider-Man, coffee had become a necessity.

He liked this library for three reasons. The first one was that they had a great teen space with snacks. Secondly, the librarians were cool. Finally, it was all about the location.

Spider-Man could swing anywhere quickly from this place.

He tried to read over the paragraph again: In the triangle shown here, solve for the unknown angles and sides.

That sounded easy.

Only the triangle had only two known angles and one side and all the numbers seemed impossible. Who had an angle of 100 degrees anyways? Peter itched for his phone. He wanted to look at literally anything else. He checked the time as a compromise. 10:18 a.m. Where was Ned? He was supposed be helping him with these problems since he may have fallen asleep halfway through the lecture on sines and cosines four days in a row.

He sighed and scrolled through his Twitter feed to find out nothing had happened. It was only grouchy people and photos he saw earlier. The next table over laughed. They poked each other as they played cards on the table. He felt a twitch. The back of his eyes ached, he realized, that was how tired he was.

The phone went face down slowly on top of May's overdue cookbook and he picked up his pencil.

Alright.

Concentrate.

His brain moved like molasses.

In the triangle shown here, solve for the unknown angles and sides.

They laughed again.

He shut them out.

The right formula was barely on his paper when Ned rolled into town.

"Peter!"

His friend hurried over, his backpack looking much lighter than his own. Peter couldn't help the grin on his face. It was good to see him. Peter saw the guy everyday so it was strange to be actually apart.

"Dude, so I've got to ask, last night? What happened there?" Ned asked as they ran through their handshake.

"They got to the water before I could catch them.." Peter paused as he thought back on it and then snapped back. "But you've got to tell me I was right. Something exciting did happen at 2 a.m."

Ned sputtered pulling out his pre-cal textbook. "Okay. Look. You didn't win on a technicality. You didn't beat them."

"What?" Peter shouted just a little louder than he should have and slapped the table. That won him a look from the librarian Jess who never had to say anything.

He winced but leaned over. "What do you mean? I did beat them. I beat three of them."

"Ahhhh," He said all knowingly, "but the lady in distress was still kidnapped, was she not?"

All Peter could make was noncommittal sounds and took another drink of his coffee.

"Right," Ned said, "Did you get Ms. Gardiner's extra credit done? The fifth problem was so terrible."

"No, I was busy failing a lady in distress."

"Did you hear anything from the big cheese about that?"

Peter flipped the page back and forth. "I haven't and probably won't. He doesn't always keep up."

"That's not a bad thing." Ned pulled out his notebook.

"It's not a good thing either."

"Be careful what you wish for."

Mr. Stark's disregard settled as a bad feeling in him sometimes. Even eating a triple scope ice cream didn't solve it sometimes and that solved most everything. Peter understood that the billionaire didn't have a lot of time. Sometimes, Peter wasn't sure how he did it. At worse times, he felt like he was going to explode. Nobody knew about that part. It boiled under his skin until he reconsidered everything.

Mr. Stark's acknowledgment went go along way.

But the feeling always left on its own.

"I didn't know you were into One Hundred Easy Lunch Ideas?" Ned pulled at the cookbook near Peter.

"That's from May. I'm returning it."

"Why is it still here then?"

Peter put his head on the table. "'cause I'm too tired to get up and do it."

"Peter. The librarian is literally right there. You walked past a return slot. We are in a library."

He just waved his hand in response.

"Okay, okay, okay. Fine. Come on. Let's get down to business." Ned tapped against the book.

"Was that a Mulan reference?" He asked between his arms.

"You know it was. Let's make a man out of you."

"…To defeat Ms. Gardiner?" Peter squinted.

"That's in the wrong order but I'll take it. What do you have questions about?"

"Everything, Ned. Absolutely everything."

It took him the rest of his coffee and the rest of the hour to get the required pre-cal homework and practice test done. Ned seesawed between wild encouragement and poking him in the ribs when he drowsed off again.

"Seriously, why can't you stay awake? Are you catching narcolepsy?"

Peter snuffed and rubbed his face hard, trying to get the blood flowing. "I don't think you 'catch' narcolepsy. I think you 'become' narcoleptic."

"English is dumb."

"Yeah." He refocused his eyes. The atmosphere was calming down in the library. The students stared at their books and worked on group powerpoints. He checked his phone. There were no major catastrophes. The news was chewing over the theft from last night but the arrested people weren't giving up leads. He yawned again. His eyes caught on the stairs going to the first floor.

There wasn't anything special about them.

Ned moved on to his SAT prep questions but Peter didn't have the heart to do his yet. His head was stuffy. The pencil sent vibrations through his fingers as he tapped it against the table. He needed to think about something. It was on the tip of his mind but he couldn't quite grasp it. The plastic chair chewed on his back.

He found himself studying the stairs again. There wasn't anyone on them. They were just boring steel steps to the first floor. Someone had painted a tree on the back wall. His mouth twitched and he rapped his pencil harder. Ned was muttering something about buying a DLC pack to a game when he went home.

He didn't need to go up there. It was a library. Nothing exciting ever happened in a library. He had been here hundreds of times and probably fell asleep here just as often. The upstairs was just the adult books and the computers. It was boring. His gut curled and he couldn't stop staring.

"I'm going to go upstairs real quick." He pushed hard against the table. He needed to be on the stairs.

Ned didn't even look up. "Get me a Payday."

"Uhhh yeah. Sure."

His thighs twitched as he quickly crossed the room. Everyone looked calm. Staff were doing typical library things. Jess was typing on a computer behind the desk. She had an ear piece. If there was a security problem, she would probably be the first one to know about it. Instead, there was a little smile on her face as she glanced at him.

He waved and then realized that was awkward and his hand dropped. Once she had offered him free snacks for no reason besides she said "he might need them."

Ned hadn't looked up from his problems and his phone. The guy was timing himself against the questions. Peter put his foot on the first step. It didn't creak. His shoulders tensed.

Everything was so normal.

Then why was he awake for the first time since he woke up today?

He took the steps two at a time slowly, feeling for the compact webshooter in his back pocket. He stretched to look at the ground floor. No one was running around or screaming. He poked his head just above the beginning of the railing. Shoes, table legs, bookshelves, cords, nothing unusual. People milled around looking at books or checking out holds.

He was too tired. This was paranoia. He needed more coffee. His fingers loosened around the Stark tech. He started to turn back when he heard a question asked at the front desk.

"Can you help me find my holds?"

It wasn't the question. It was the accent, the strange way that some of the sounds hit each other thickly. He had heard that accent once and it happened to be last night.

"Shit." Peter whispered and peeked again. The guy looked about the right build as he leaned against the counter. Without the mask, he was jsut another regular guy. Yet, Peter knew that he was right. There was no way that he was wrong about this one. He pulled back, allowing the guy to sink from sight and quickly walked down the stairs.

His heart was starting to ramp up, making his head spin with the extreme amount of caffeine that he'd drank that day. He needed to get changed. The converse slapped against the steps and he winced as he slowed down. The guy would probably bolt if anything was off.

He crossed the room at a very rapid walk.

"Ned," he whispered as he leaned against the table.

He only glanced up. "Where's the Payday man?"

"I need a guy in the chair thing. 'kay?" Peter almost shook him. Instead he started to sweeping his stuff into his backpack. Then he realized he was putting all those books on top of his suit. He put his hand in, trying to pull the suit up and all he got from that was a very ominous ripping noise.

"Oh! Oh? Wait, what?" Ned pulled out his earbuds. "What do you need?"

"I need you to take your stuff and go up to the first floor. One of the guys from yesterday is here asking about his holds for some reason." Peter shoved Ned's papers at him. "I've got to go change. I'm going to leave my backpack in the bathroom. Go get it after I chase him out, okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I can do that." He whispered but his excitement overwhelmed the quietness of his tone. Peter looked up at him as he slung the backpack over his shoulder. Ned was grinning ear to ear.

"Stop grinning so much. It looks suspicious."

Ned dropped the grin for a judge-like seriousness. Peter rolled his eyes and pulled him to his feet. "Go read a magazine or something. He's wearing a gray t-shirt. If he leaves, follow him. Text me."

"Got it."

Peter half jogged to the bathroom and he only barely heard Ned squeal as he started up the stairs. He slammed the door. It was a small bathroom, only two stalls and a couple urinals but most importantly it was empty. There was no lock on the main door. He gritted his teeth. Peter dropped the backpack immediately feeling the seconds ticking against him.

He didn't doubt that Ned could do his job but it was his responsibility to keep his friends out of harm's way, not throw them directly into it. He pulled the suit out. He could see that the rip from last night was worse but he didn't have time for that. The electrical tape was hanging by a thread. He yanked his shirt off, stuffing it on top of his pre-cal textbook.

Someone gasped and the door slammed against its hinges.

Peter jerked to look but all he saw was a blur of hands. Not good. He swallowed. He pulled the mask. Karen chirped and whirred in his ears cheerily telling him he needed to put on the rest of the suit to access her features. His jeans were balled up and put in the backpack. Zipping it up, he hung it on the inside of the stall. The door was still closed. He would just cover it in webs to keep it closed but he also needed to get through it as quickly as possible. This was just a matter of speed.

Now to the suit. The mask limited his vision. That was usually great. He tried to feel his way through to find where the leg holes. It wasn't good. His breath bloomed against his face. The air circulation system worked well when the whole suit was together. He managed to get his left foot in and then made the awkward step into the right one.

He would think after doing this everyday for almost a half year he would have it down.

His right foot hit the cold tile. The suit dragged against his legs and he fell forward. He barely stuck a hand against the wall. His sock touched the ground.

"Are you kidding me?" He asked the air. His foot had gone through the tear in his suit. He didn't have time for this. Already the guy could have gotten the right instructions and was on his way out. The suit was rumpled around his waist and bit into his stomach as he tediously disentangled his heel out of the hole. Wires ran through the rip like a netting making it even worse.

He grunted. Wires popped right and left. He should have been more careful with the suit in the backpack. Something from Mr. Stark about the suit costing a couple million echoed in his ears. The bad guy could be holding everyone captive upstairs now and here he was almost hogtied by his own suit in the bathroom. His heel tugged against various important networks as he extracted it. Now he just had to get it in right, pull up the sleeves and tighten the suit.

That's when he noticed that the door was in the process of closing and Jess the librarian stood in front of him, microphone frozen halfway to her mouth, her face in shock.

"Uhhhh…hi?"

That was the only thing he could think of to say.

* * *

_I hope that everyone is staying safe out there. It's so funny to edit something about NYC and also knowing that this library is currently closed. Still...I can to do my tiny part to throw this out there._

_Even if that means Peter getting caught by a librarian changing in the bathroom. I really feel that the kid would choose those classic "dumb" changing spots...at least until he learns his lesson. Haha._

_What do you think? Will she rat?_

_Wash your hands. Stay well. Thank you for reading as always. -Quin_


	6. 11:00 am

**11:00 a.m.**

Peter stared at the librarian and she stared back in shock.

The top half of his suit crumpled around his waist but he was so exposed. Thankfully he had managed to put the mask on. His identity was safe for a second. Jess' eyes locked with his through the lenses. He was in real trouble now. Forget the bad guys. This librarian was going to do him in.

The bathroom door clicked closed. Peter's foot managed to find its way down to the insole in the suit without detouring.

He eased his weight across his feet. One fast move and he was done for. Her fingers held the radio's microphone dangerously close to her mouth. Her focus shifted inward and he could see her trying to put together the right phrase to say into it.

He raised a hand. With a couple words she could scare off the bad guy upstairs and if she trapped him in here, it could be the end of Spider-Man.

"Ma'am…"

That woke her up.

"A patron reported." She blinked. The words were broken. "A patron reported that someone was putting on a Spider-Man mask on in the bathroom. That's suspicious. I was investigating. I knocked."

She paused and her eyes roamed down to his completely undeserved abs.

"But you are the real deal."

"Kinda. I mean, I try to be." He felt himself twist under the attention.

Her chest rose as she took a deep breath and held it. She looked him over one more time and then started talking.

"The juvie bathroom is clear. I'm not sure what that patron was talking about."

Peter leaned forward against the wall.

The microphone fell back down to where it hung loose. Her chin rose and Jess talked smoothly. "I think that I am going to stand outside this bathroom door and apologize to everyone that this restroom is out of order."

She turned on her heel, pony tail flipping, and went to the door. Her hand on the knob, she turned around. "You're pretty cool. Teens look up to you. Keep it up."

"Thanks ma'am."

She scrunched her face. "I'm twenty-seven. You don't need to call me 'ma'am'."

His heart started up again. "I'm sorry. I just-"

"If you ever need a snack, drop by." Jess opened the door. "I give them out to kids who need them."

"Thank you ma-Thank you."

The relaxed smile he knew came across her face. "You're welcome. Good luck out there."

The door clicked shut. He was alone in the bathroom again.

He fell in on himself as the stress left. Strange incoherent noises left his mouth. That was way too close. Shaking his head, he pulled the rest of the suit up quickly. He shoved his crumpled underwear smooth before he tightened the suit. Last week he hadn't bothered and there had been an entirely embarrassing series of articles trying to decide if he was into briefs or boxers by the rumpled silhouette. Even when he had given his next report to Happy, he had wryly asked: _"Well_ which one is true?"

Peter didn't like to think about that conversation. His brain loved to remember it on a daily occurrence.

He double checked himself in the mirror and headed for the door.

_Peter, your suit is operating at 79% capacity and should be serviced immediately,_ Karen chirped happily in his ear.

"Yeah, I got it." He muttered and he pushed out of the bathroom. Jess smiled out of the corner of his eye as he jogged past. Karen read her badge immediately, storing the information. The carpet crunched under his shoes as he painfully spedwalked. Years of "No Running" were drilled into him. His leg tickled with the breeze.

_Shall I set a service appointment with Stark Industries?_

"I'm a little busy." A couple of the students noticed him. Someone shouted but he hurried to the stairs without stopping. He hoped to goodness that Ned had done his job. He didn't know how long it had been since he started to get dressed. It felt like a year. They could already be out on the street. If they weren't in the lobby, he would have to get out of the building and check his phone.

_Your calendar shows availability at 12 p.m. today._

He shook his head and ignored her. His mouth went dry as he slowed on the last couple steps. Crouching so he was half hidden by the railing, he peeked into the lobby. The suit worked hard as it outlined the bodies in the room. He concentrated on the desk. No one was there. The librarian was back to work on the computer.

Panic drifted through his stomach. His fingers squeezed one of the rods, leaving indents on the metal. He looked around for Ned. He could hear the teens start to gather at the bottom of the stairs. All of them had their phones out. He'd gotten used to that part but it was only a matter of time before his whole cover was blown.

He was winding up like a spring. This had to work. The people in the library were browsing and it took him a second to find his friend within the mix.

Ned was reading Cosmopolitan in the middle of the lobby.

Correction: Ned was reading Cosmopolitan upside down in the middle of the lobby.

The bright pink articles titled _3 Things to Do In Bed That Will Set Him Off _and _Best Sheets to Stay Warm and Cozy This Winter _popped off the page.

Peter choked back a laugh. Ned glanced up and wildly pointed, covering the almost naked lady on the front, to the DVDs .

The guy was reading the back of a movie case without a care in the world.

Peter popped up and strolled over to him. The guy's face twitched as he finished another line of the summary. The bright colors of the suit made Peter jump out like a toy in a flooring store.

"You know, if you are looking for inspiration I might check out the Mission Impossible films," he suggested as he spun out a web, connecting the criminal to the bookshelf.

The guy didn't take his advice. He dropped the movie and took off. In theory and practice, the webbing should stop him. Peter waited confidently for him to bounce back at him. The guy didn't. Instead, the white web stretched and ripped off the entire rows of DVDs the string was attached to. They rattled against each other like tin cans hung off "Just Married" cars.

Peter dug in his heels and sprung after the guy. He weaved in between the shelves towards the door. He jumped past people and accidentally knocked into others. There was no way to gain speed this way. Spider-Man jumped on top of a bookcase to get a better view. The shelf leaned and toppled over under him. The crash rug in his ears as he spun a web wildly towards the ceiling and leapt off.

The bad guy didn't look back as he busted out the front door.

The library's alarm trilled, starting over as each of the twenty DVD cases set off the alarm.

"Sorry!" Spider-Man waved a hand and tumbled after him. The library, the alarm and the shouting disappeared as he ran onto the street. His heart was running smoothly in his ears like a car engine. The DVDs caught his attention as they went around the block. Chases like this felt good. Now it was over. He shot out a web, yanking himself into the sky above the people.

_Response time expired, _Karen announced clinically, _emergency service appointment set for 12 p.m. today at Stark Industries. Reminders to your suit and phone set for 11:45 a.m._

"Wait. What? No! Cancel!" Peter almost lost the grip on his web and shot out another to keep his momentum going. He tucked his feet up as he swung close to the traffic underneath him.

Karen continued anyways.

_Sending diagnostic information to Stark Industries. Some features will be unavailable during this time. It is recommended that you remain immobile or remove the suit for the duration. We thank you for your patience._

"Stop!" His vision snapped to black as the aperture blades of his lenses closed. Blinded, he missed the swing.

Speed sent him violently into a roll on the ground. Usually he could twist in the air to land somewhat correctly. Now the ground was gone. Gravity was a mystery. He was completely out of control. He hit something soft that screamed. He tumbled over himself again. Then came the concrete that bashed into his body. Ripples of shock moved through him. Sourness covered his tongue.

"Karen!" He yelled as he fought the temptation to rip off his mask. Fabric caught in his mouth. He couldn't breath.

_I__'m sorry but your voice controlled virtual assistant is not available. Please check your satellite connection or try again in a few minutes. If this problem persists, please contact Stark Industries._

Calm down. He swallowed a deep breath as his arms sprawled out onto the flattened surface. The fabric of the suit was breathable but the area in front of his mouth was stiffened so Karen could pump air there. Cold air flooded his lungs. Air circulation was still cycling. Good. He wasn't going to die just yet.

"Karen, open the lenses," He groped on his face. He could be in the middle of the street. A New Yorker wouldn't stop for anyone.

_I__'m sorry but your voice controlled virtual assistant is not available. Please check your satellite connection or try again in a few minutes. If this problem persists, please contact Stark Industries. _

Muffled voices shouted around him. Hands dragged him. He could lash out but instead his fingers stubbed themselves over the glass on his face. His nail got in the slit and the light that it sent through was blinding. Prying open the lenses, he found himself sprawled on the sidewalk. Various faces looked down at him.

"Hey guys." He struggled to his feet. "Everybody okay?"

They parted around him without a response. The world was so plain. Without the virtual assistance and the UI , it was strange to see the world normally. His shoulder ached as he searched for the guy. By the angry shouting and the crowd ripples, he assumed he was crossing the street.

"Okay Karen," Peter muttered to himself, "please tell me that you didn't take away my webs."

_I__'m sorry but your voice controlled virtual assistant is not-_

"I got it."

The message stopped and Peter pressed the button. Webbing came out straight and true as always. A smile crossed his face. It was the default kind, no special tricks, but he didn't need any more. It pulled tight in his hands against a building and it sent him flying forward. He looked for the map of the city in the upper right. Nothing.

He didn't need it anyways as he arched around the corner of the building.

The bad guy was running under some scaffolding. His vision started to narrow. He jumped onto a car to leap off and onto the sidewalk to sprint in the wake of the guy. He was looking in slits. The blades were closing again. Ramming his eyes open, he realized that he couldn't take much more of this.

In one burst of speed, he jumped forward and tackled the guy. They slammed hard against the ground.

"I hope you don't mind late fees mister," Peter said as he pushed up and looked at the line of DVDs behind him. "You're going to have quite a few of those."

The man remained quiet besides the stream of swearwords were flung uncreatively at him. Spider-Man sighed in the emptiness of the mask. Sirens started off in the distance. Webbing the guy to the ground, he got up stiffly. Cool. That was done. Pulling a little knife from his belt, he cut the string of DVDs from the man.

"I'm going to return these for you. You good to hang out there?"

"Go rot in hell."

"'kay. I'll do that tomorrow."

"This guy is part of the theft last night. Ask him some questions please." Peter shouted at a random police officer as he jogged off with the wad of movies under one arm.

_Hello Peter, diagnostic information sent. Suit is at 60% capacity._

The UI jumped to life on his screen. The familiar numbers, diagrams and maps popped up. His strides increased as he ran.

"You were really helpful today Karen."

_I am always happy to be of assistance, Peter._

Peter rolled his eyes as he threw and stuck the cases to the front door of the library. No way was he going back in there for a long while. Now he was going to go home, change, get a bite to eat-

_Peter, this is your fifteen minute reminder about your emergency repair appointment at Stark Industries._

"Come on!"

* * *

_You know. This may be inspired with my own fights with technology. I'll leave that up to you to speculate._

_What did you think? Let me know!_

_Thank you for reading as always_

_Quin_


	7. 12:00 pm

**12:00 p.m.**

Mr. Stark put his hand through the tear in the suit. "Okay genius. The mandatory requirement for fixing this is telling me how you managed to destroy it in the first place."

Peter swallowed. His hands wrapped around each other but they wouldn't stay still on his lap. Looking around the lab, he tried his best to avoid the billionaire.

The lab was huge, bigger than their entire apartment or maybe their entire floor. Equipment decorated every surface. Several items he knew from magazines. Ned would drag him to Barnes and Noble and they would drool over the science section, pointing at the new tech. Many of those things were here. More than a few of those were taken next to the face of Tony Stark.

Now Peter sat on a bar tool in front of the man himself. This wasn't intimidating at all.

Mr. Stark waggled his fingers through the suit's hole and let go of the fabric. It slipped down and pooled around his elbow. The expectant look on his face was heavy and probably a hundred percent annoyed.

Peter was back in normal clothes. Ned had met him in a back alley with his backpack and a very excited monologue about how much fun that was. Changing and sprinting through the streets, he had barely made it to the tower on time.

The suit flatten underneath Mr. Stark's hands on the worktable as his eyebrows continued to rise. "Still waiting kid. This 'emergency service' overrode my lunch. I had a tuna sandwich and the beautiful sound of silence waiting for me." He pulled the suit over the table's mannequin and spread out the damage, his fingers running across the fabric as if he was tracing arteries.

"How did you manage to disconnect a main seam, rip open the pressurized cooling system and almost completely sever the suit from a secondary power source? Also, why is there electricity damage?"

"Hit by a taxi?" Peter offered it up waveringly.

"I weaved kelvar into this fabric. You're going to have to try harder, kid." Mr. Stark's voice rose as he pulled up Karen. The clips of his life were shown in a sterile straight line.

No dice. Peter tucked his toes under the foot pedals and pulled against them. "Well, I clipped against it when I was swinging."

"I'll figure it out myself then." The clips hummed through the 2 a.m. fight without any comment.

It was only a matter of time before he found the library bathroom stuff. Who knew what Karen recorded but he didn't want to find out. Having Mr. Stark discover that it was only through Jess' kindness that allowed Peter to save his identity was not a conversation he wanted to have.

He swallowed. He would have to do better.

"Well, the taxi did make a little rip but," Peter said and Tony stopped the reel in a blurry moment that wasn't at the library. Good. He continued, hoping that this would work. "When I was trying to change, later, I was in a hurry. The suit caught on my pre-cal book in my backpack. That's when the tear got big."

"It made a pretty big ripping noise." Peter winced and stared at the floor. He probably didn't need to add that detail. It actually only made it worse.

"The truth comes out."

Out of the corner of his eye, the Spider-Man's footage minimized. Karen chirped and disappeared. Muscles in Peter's back unknitted themselves. The seat creaked under Peter. His feet pulled on the metal footrests and they were bending. Peter carefully untucked his toes and placed his shoes flat.

Tony sighed and crossed his arms glaring at the suit. He drummed his fingers against his arms and stepped back to a computer nearby.

"Pre-cal was a pain in my butt thirtyish years ago and here we are again." Mr. Stark tapped a few keys without looking and two robotic arms swung in to work on the fabric.

Peter really didn't need the guilt that he felt. "It was an honest mistake."

He waived as he moved away from the machines. "I know I said that Peter needed to hit the books more often but I didn't think that _Spider-Man_ would have to pay for it."

"Mr. Stark-"

The billionaire dropped a hand on his shoulder smiling as he walked by. "Can't you take a joke? Come on. This is going to take a second. Let's eat."

"Sir?" Peter spun in the chair as the hand hung on until it dragged off.

"What?" He unlocked the sliding door. "You don't like Pepper's tuna sandwiches?"

They ended up on Tony Stark's private porch with a view that Peter thought only he had the honor of seeing. The city rolled out all around them almost like a LEGO set. The buildings themselves were beginning to look indistinct and hazy in a way that sewed them together in a beautiful metallic mountain.

The small table was full of food and Peter was happy to sit with his soda and stare out at the view for the next hour.

Tony took another bite of his sandwich, eyeballing him. "So tell me about Spider-Man's newest terrors. What do you know about them?"

"They're organized and primarily they use drones to take away artwork." Peter tore a bite out of his bread.

"Wowo. I could have read that one in a tweet, _before_ they upped the character limit," Tony said, "Come on, tell me what you think all of this is about. Did you even find out their band name?"

"I'm not sure." Peter shrugged. "I didn't do much digging. I was busy with other stuff."

"'Busy with other stuff"?" Tony let out a fake gasp. "Oh no, Peter Parker getting distracted with a plus one?"

"No, no, no, no. You don't understand." Peter would have sworn that the breeze had stopped and all the air was being strategically removed from around him.

"A damsel for distress?"

"Mr. Star-"

"No, that's old fashioned now." He took a quick slip of his drink but was still clearly on a role. "What about a kick-ass lady? You found yourself one of those?"

"No. You-"

"'No'? Not one of those?"

"If you-"

"A Romeo?"

"Pleas-"

"A prince in shining armor?"

"W-"

"It's alright if that's true. I didn't mean to de-closet you. Is that the youth's term now?"

"Mr. Stark, I like girls!" Peter interrupted him so loudly that it echoed back in his ears. Tony's amused face was his response. His chest rose and fell with suppressed laughter as he took another drink of water.

It took all of Peter's strength to not melt into a puddle of embarrassment and slide off the balcony. Instead he resorted to pushing his plate aside, folding his arms on the table and burying his head in them.

"Come on champ. Eat up. You'll find the right one someday."

"I'm going to die here now."

"Teenage angst didn't do anybody good except painters and artists. Especially superheroes. Performance issues." The absolute smugness in that tone made him press his head further into his arm. A breeze tickled through his hair.

Stark's statement faded away into the atmosphere. The chair squealed as Tony leaned back in it and crunched on potato chips. Why did Peter have to shout that? Couldn't he have just said it calmly? Could he have not said it at all? Tony probably thought that he was a blabbering idiot now. He probably regretted having him eat lunch with him now. Something like this would never happen again. Maybe he would even take away his suit again.

Car horns sounded off in the distance. There were no sirens, not that Spider-Man could do anything about it at the moment.

"Hey. Kid. Earth to the fourteen-year-old?"

"I'm fifteen." Peter mumbled and raised his head just enough that he could see Mr. Stark's face. Most of the delight was gone but a flash of it rose up at his correction. He took another bite of his sandwich.

"Your baddies call themselves the Statues of History. They've got a Twitter page."

That got him sitting up. "Really?"

"Yeah. Dumb name. Silly branding. They even have a logo and you can buy a t-shirt on Redbubble." Tony slid his phone across the table. A Twitter page was pulled up. The profile photo was the bronze lady from last night. The bio stated: _Reminding Americans what it feels like to be subjected to thefts of history._

"What Gaston Lachaise's _Floating Figure_ has to do with any of this, I am not sure. I don't want to commit the brain cells to it."

"Oh wow," Peter breathed as he scrolled down to see only three tweets. The first one stated: _Let Americans create their own history. _The second was a photo of the statue in some dark basement without a description. The newest one was posted a couple of hours ago. It only asked a question: _Guess what__'s next?_

Tony plucked the phone from him. "It's cute."

"This is great. We can trace it back and everything will be solved." Peter reached for the phone again. Tony dropped it in his pocket.

"They're using ungodly layers of VPNs and reverse proxies," Tony replied, "but I'm way ahead of you. FRIDAY had a field day and I know exactly where their little hidey hole is."

The grin grew across his face. They were going into a mission together again. He had been dreaming of this for a really long time.

"_But_ I won't let you copy my notes. I want you to figure it out on your own. This is small time stuff. Iron Man isn't going to tango with ants." He waved a potato chip. "That's more up your alley."

"Thanks Mr. Stark." The disappointment was bitter in his throat and the words were so quiet that Peter thought at first that Tony might have not have heard him.

"No problem. I'm all about personal growth." The phone lit up in his pocket and he pulled it out. "Hey. Look at this young timer."

He showed his phone. It was a live feed of the Natural History Museum. Somebody was attempting to steal a T-Rex skull.

"It's time to get to work, Spider-Man."

* * *

_I may have finished Red, White and Royal Blue right when I was writing this chapter and that might have completely fueled Tony's conversation about girlfriends. :)_

_I forgot to finish editing this during the week and had to finish this with my Saturday morning cup of coffee. Not too bad to do. This chapter is relatively easy._

_What do you think?_

_Stay safe._

_Thank you for reading as always._

_-Quin_


	8. 1:00 pm

**1:00 PM**

Article taken from the Daily Bugle Blog:

_Posted TODAY, 1:32 PM_

**Too Little For a Big Theft? Spider-Man Drops The Ball****…AGAIN**

AROUND 12:55 P.M., GUESTS OF the American Museum of Natural History got a surprise they hadn't paid for and been seen in thousands of years. A T-Rex skull was on the move, floating through the halls with the aid of four drones. These drones flew the skull out into the city where it crossed the Hudson. The machines were completely unmanned but it doesn't take a Stark-level genius to wonder who was behind that attack.

The Statues of History are being blamed. From what can be gathered from bystanders, the fourth floor of the museum received an unexpected guest after lunch: gas. The thieves threw gas grenades that scattered the patrons and the guards quickly. The gas was apparently nonlethal but caused semi-unconsciousness and drowsiness with any guest who stayed unprotected. The museum is working closely with the NYPD to have first access with possible suspect photos.

On the ground footage showed the thieves wore masks and street clothes with light rimmed glasses that blew out any footage that could be used as evidence. A livestream by GirlyGirl77 on Instagram recorded the beginnings of the attack. There appeared to be four men pulling out straps from their pockets and climbing the T-Rex display as the green gas filled the room. Drones broke through the front of the building and arrived unhindered to the site. Shortly after, the livestream stopped. We can assume GirlyGirl77 evacuated at this point.

Where was Spider-Man during all of this? The webhead was spotted near Hell's Kitchen around 12:59 according to WhereIsSpidey? Twitter fan account. He slung a little too slow and arrived along with the police to the scene after everything was over. After his questionable actions earlier this morning, especially using a woman as a safety cushion on a fall, the Daily Bugle wonders if our suspicions about our hero are coming true.

Is Spider-Man becoming sloppy? Has he stopped caring? Is he even a hero?

Earlier in the day, _The Spider Report _reported that the right calf of Spider-Man's suit was damaged in the disastrous fight last night with the Statues of History. While talking to the police, it appeared as if the tear had been repaired. Considering that Spider-Man was observed near Hell's Kitchen, we can assume that the superhero was with his mentor Tony Stark who gave him his suit and repairs it. Maybe he was trying to get advice? Maybe he was asking Iron Man to take over the case after last night's lackluster performance? Maybe he was hoping for an upgrade that might make his powers more than the current baby's squeaky toy?

The "hero" got stickily close to revealing his identity earlier today. Spider-Man was caught changing into his costume in NYPL's Mulberry Street Library as he tracked down another member of the claimed Statues of History. Several reporters have been sent down to the New York Public Library branch to see the footage around the bathroom that teenagers claim Spider-Man sprung from. The manager told us that the library would put out a statement shortly and that we should take a moment to advertise the free materials that the library has to offer. We are still waiting on the statement at this time.

The man that Spider-Man tracked down has not admitted to being part of the Statues of History. He has not confessed to anything besides running away from a masked threat. None of the captured confirmed members of the Statues of History have confessed. These "leads" are becoming a waste of our time and yours.

Spider-Man has become increasingly erratic these last couple weeks. Reports of him have come from all over the city at unpredictable hours. Crime has been spiking. On-site injuries has increased by 70%. He hardly waits for press, cameras, to give signatures or to take selfies with any of his flocking fans. Instead he hurries off as if he is completely disinterested in us.

The big city might be proving too much for our little spider hero.

The T-Rex has been beheaded.

New York City has lost another piece of art.

Are we supposed to rely on Spider-Man to fix this problem? Come on. Let's be realistic here. We need bigger guns…or to swap out for a rolled up newspaper.

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UPDATE (1:40): The New York Public Library has put forth the following statement:

_We are happy to offer our resources and materials to all patrons including our masked crusader. The library has received hundreds of requests to release the security footage surrounding today to try to find out Spider-Man__'s identity. Our Head of Security and Director have reviewed the footage from Mulberry Street personally and we agree that the information of the man behind the mask is not available through our security footage. The staff have also been interviewed and did not see anything._

_We will not be releasing the footage to any outside source. We will not be taking further questions about today. We will not be pursuing __"finding out" Spider-Man's identity. Library staff have been informed to stop any interview of library personnel or with patrons on the premises. Several stills from the day are being printed out and will be hung in the branch to commemorate the day. _

_We want to personally thank Spider-Man for returning over $600 dollars worth of materials back to our library. We will keep a library card at the front desk if you ever wish to use our resources or if you need help with your research._

UPDATE (1:52): Statues of History have posted the following tweet on their account:

_We gathered a King and a Queen. Where is your knight?_

* * *

_I did say that some of the hours would be represented in usual ways. This is one of them! I had such a blast writing for the Bugle. How do you think that Peter's feeling right about now?_

_Thank you for reading and your support. I really do appreciate it._

_Quin_


	9. 2:00 pm

**2:00 p.m.**

The city blurred around Spider-Man as he swung. He spun out a new web, caught the clipped end and shifted his weight forward. The air tucked around his body. The drop towards the ground hardly felt real anymore as the next arc swept him away.

These were lazy curves that he carved around the city. There was no destination in mind. His heart beat a constant beat in his ears and on the monitor. At some point he knew he would have to turn around before he veered too far away from the backpack and Peter Parker's life. It was the chain that he danced on but even that all felt distant and hazy now. All that he had brought with him with the rhythm of flying and his own lonely thoughts. Somebody shouted his name but it was too late by the time that he registered it.

He stretched into the middle of the curve, the lower part of his body pulling down. The momentum tugged on his shoulder. It ached and complained from where he had fallen earlier that day.

He put out an arm causing the world to spin.

So update.

He knew that he shouldn't be letting that Daily Bugle article bother him.

Air danced in between his outstretched fingers.

Yeah. He knew that.

The arch of the swing started to lose momentum and he switched to his next web. The webshooter hissed and snapped as it cut the line into his palm. The city rolled along below him. Karen was quiet. Stark hadn't upgraded to the suit but it felt new against his skin again.

Guilt dragged in his stomach. He should be trying to read _Of Mice and Men _or looking over SAT questions or studying for the midterm on Monday.

The click of his webshooter brought him back as he attached it to a side of a building so he could make the turn.

The Bugle said that he was disinterested in the people. He had stopped last night to take photos and autograph everything those people had in their apartment. Last week, he had been late to class because a woman lost her phone on the subway tracks. Guess who showed up to save it? He'd been threatened with detention later for "negligence" and had come away with a warning.

Frustration curled in his throat. The Bugle didn't talk about those things.

The sun warmed his back. He held onto the web instead of spinning out another one. He swung backwards and then weakly forwards again.

He should be doing something. He was wasting time. The web went straight in his hands as he curled himself around it. In about a hour he had to be at school for decathlon prep then he was going to go out for another patrol to see if the Statues would try to hit another spot before dinner. Maybe two would be enough for one day. Then May's for dinner and then another patrol. Maybe he would bring his textbook with him, camp out on a roof and study while he waited.

But for how long would he stay out?

Peter's back twitched.

The cars beneath him kept moving, blaring their horns loudly. He pulled himself up the web and onto the roof. The molding pushed into his thighs as he sat. "Too Little for a Big Crime". Did the writers know what he had stopped over the summer? Mr. Stark was right. This was little stuff compared to the Vulture.

And he should have a good handle on it.

Maybe it was all beginner's luck.

That was a thought that he shut down immediately.

"Karen, call May for me, will you?"

_Of course. Connecting to May Parker_

A pigeon landed a few feet away and stared at him like he was an alien. Peter waved as the dial tone rang.

"Hey Pet." May sounded breathless on the phone. She was probably on the third flight of stairs to their walkup apartment. Peter balled his hand into his lap.

"Hey Aunt May."

"By that stellar audio quality, I'm gonna guess you are in your suit." She took a gasp of air. "You would think after living in this apartment for a year, I would be used to hauling groceries up these stairs. Where is my strong superhero when there is a buy-one-get-one free on milk and orange juice?"

She hadn't read the article. Peter stared at the water towers around him wavering between the choice.

"If you are calling to say that you aren't going to make it home by five, that's fine but try to make it home before six. Lasagna can only sit in the oven so long and it's the good stuff from that place near our house."

A wave of hot air came over him. It smelled like exhaust. The pigeon cooed. He took a deep breath and plastered his fingers underneath him.

"Earth to Peter?"

"Yeah, you read my mind. I think training is going to run late."

"Great. Did you return that cooking book? I got an email that it was overdue."

He tucked his chin into his collarbone. That book had been in his backpack and he hadn't even thought about it. "Agh. No. I got tied up. I'm sorry. I'm such a failure."

"Stop beating up on my friend. I like him." May huffed static in his ears. "I've got to continue the climb. I've got a little surprise for you tonight. I'm not sure you'll like it but I'm giving it to you anyways."

That got a little laugh out of him. "Sounds good."

The line went dead. New York City was laid out like a playing board. The edges of the board were blocked with buildings and the haze of the cars sitting in traffic. Peter blew air out, his lungs collapsing in his chest until he had to breathe in. Tony was so much better than the bad press that he got. Nothing bothered him.

But he was Iron Man.

That was a whole different story.

The gloves flexed under his eyes, the webbing design stretching with his digits.

He needed to do something for himself.

"Okay," he said to himself, "let's try it."

"Hey Karen? Can you call Happy for me?"

_Of course. Calling Happy._

The dial tone rang as he tried to remember the details of the plan. It had been a few nights ago that he had put pen to paper on this one.

"Hey kid. What do you need?"

He sounded busy. Peter bit on his lip.

"Do you have a moment? I had an idea."

There was rattling on the other side of the phone. "This isn't the best time."

"Oh, I'll make it quick. You know, I was thinking about how Iron Man and Captain America make those hospital trips? I was thinking that maybe Spider-Man-"

"I'm going to cut you off there. This is about that Bugle article today, isn't it?"

"Well. I had thought of it earlier than that but I had a little time today and I thought that maybe, perhaps, you know, with a little luck, we could do something with it? I've worked out the details."

Peter had spent his sleeping hours a couple days ago researching cancer hospitals nearby, figuring out good times and dates for him. It was all in the notes of his phone, ready to shoot off to Happy. He just hadn't been able to pull the trigger without help.

"Peter, no."

Those words slammed into him, breaking his ribs. He felt himself shake a little. This is what he got for trying something.

"There is a lot of security involved in something like that and if you want to make a splash, we would also need to coordinate with the press, get waivers signed and you need a health screening. Tony and Steve were able to do that because they can take off their masks."

"I'm healthy."

Happy's voice clipped through his symbols. "Let's talk in a couple weeks after things have died down. Okay?"

Peter had worked hard on that idea.

"Ok."

"Look. Don't read those trashy articles. They are trying to bring you down and make money in the process. Don't let it work. That guy that runs that blog clearly has a personal thing against you."

"Right."

"I've got to go. Tony is going live in a press conference in ten minutes."

"Me too," Peter said, "I mean I've got to do some stuff, not the press conference."

The line disconnected again.

Peter shivered in the heat.

The city hadn't changed but it was completely different. The buildings were harder in the lenses. He could see his carbon copy reflection of himself in the glass. The pigeon had settled down to roost next to him. It cooed. The sun's light was washing the gray feathers white.

Spider-Man slid off the building, allowing gravity to drag him over the last half inch. Part of him still reached back for the ledge as he dropped dead from a height he didn't bother to look at. It was a funny pull, the crashing sensation of knowing the ground would enviably find him.

A flick of his wrist, a hiss and a snap of the line, he was flying again.

* * *

_Another chapter for another week. I can't imagine just how hard it would be to be fifteen and a superhero. I don't think that I could have done it._

_I started another Spider-Man story. Don't worry about this one. I finished writing this guy a couple months ago. The summary is pretty self explanatory..._

The Stragglers

Prompt and fluff filled one shots for hard times. Chapter 1: An app tells MJ she is going to die at midnight. She decides to live her last hours to the fullest.

_As always, thank you for reading and see you next week. -Quin_


	10. 3:00 pm

**3:00 pm**

Spider-Man knew he was in real trouble the moment the doors opened.

Peter had ended up pointlessly swinging through the city. Maybe he could help clean up one more crime and make himself feel better before school. Karen and her police tap gave relatively nothing. Everything happening in the city was either too far or he wouldn't make it before the police. Instead, he had ended up staring at a YMCA sign. Protein bar crumbs fell down his suit.

Why not? Homework wasn't screaming and the Bugle's words were clamping on his spine.

So Spider-Man walked in the front door and asked if any of the kids wanted a cheer up. Doing something that Happy wouldn't approve of sent thrills of fire and guilt through him. This was exciting. It was completely his own. He _was_ in control of something. School and superhero business didn't dictate this moment of his life.

It was dumb. He should be doing something else. It was selfish. He quieted those voices.

After more explaining, the receptionist said that he knew the perfect class. There was something about his smile, one corner pulled up more than the other, that stirred anxiety in his stomach. He should have been more specific. As they walked down the hallway, the guy chatted mindlessly. He liked Spider-Man. He ate a burger for lunch. Did he like the Yankees?

Music floated down from the hallway, a slow repetition of piano chords with loud clapping.

Peter's toe caught on a tile as he put the pieces together. Surely, they would continue by that beige door with the iconic music.

"The teacher is sponsored. For most of these girls, they wouldn't be able to take this class otherwise," the receptionist said as he walked, "Having you cheer them on…you know…it's actually a sport and all you do is acrobatics and physical activity. It's a good match?"

Oh no.

"Y-y-yeah."

The receptionist stopped at the beige door.

"I'm just going to talk to the teacher real quick and then you can come in."

He didn't wait for the excuse that Peter felt in his throat. Simply, the guy knocked and slipped inside. He didn't look through door's sliver to see the bars or the pink shoes. He was going to talk to ballet students. He knew nothing about ballet. It was all tutus and wicked looking shoes. He had seen a video once over lunch of all these ballet dancers sustaining terrible injuries.

What if they wanted to teach him something?

In his mind, this was supposed to be Peter running in, waving, signing some stuff and leaving. His own little press event. The scene had always been a drawing or pottery class. May had taken a pottery class here. She had said it had 80% less hot men than expected.

The music turned down and the door cracked open further. That was his cue.

He eased his way through it.

About thirteen pre-teen girls stared at him all lined up on bars with ballet buns and leotards. Some of them grinned at him with a goofy excitement and others drilled in with bored eyes. It smelled of linoleum, sweat and floor cleaner. He scanned around the room. He was the only guy in a very tight suit that he could see in four different mirrors.

"Hey guys! I thought I might swing by." He waved and caught his reflection in one of the mirrors. It was so awkward that his hand dropped immediately. One of the girls pouted, reminding him of MJ. If she knew what he was doing, she would never stop teasing him.

Thank goodness for the mask.

"Excuse me, Mr. Spider-Man."

He turned to see a younger woman that he expected squinting at him.

"You can call me Spidey. That's okay." He smiled and offered his hand.

She took it and squeezed hard.

"Mr. Spider-Man, did you know that we were in the middle of a routine?"

"Um."

She didn't let go instead she put her other hand on top. "While I appreciate you coming, it is a little unexpected. Would you mind if we finished the exercise?"

The sharp curl in her question made him pull away. The receptionist was leaning against the wall near the door, a grin on his face. This woman stood straight and tall with as much authority as his aunt had when he had really messed up.

"Yeah, sure, I can sit and watch."

"Oh," She colored her voice with shock, "I thought that you might join us. It would be a waste to have someone with your flexibility and core strength to learn something new."

"That's very nice of you but-"

She snapped her fingers. "Miss Gayle."

"Yes, ma'am?" The pouting girl straightened.

"Run him through first through fifth and see how he does with something simple…battlement tendu perhaps?"

Battlement tendu? He slid back a step and put his hands up.

"I'm not sure if I have time…"

"Nonsense. Miss Gayle is very talented. You would not want to insult these girls, would you?" The question rose to another level of causal threat. Peter swallowed the rock in his throat that was going nowhere.

The teacher clicked her tongue, probably taking his silence for a answer. "Teach him the routine, we will run through it once and then you two will come in for the second time."

"Yes, Mrs. Harrison." Gayle moved to a bar that was unoccupied.

"Um," Spider-Man said as he took a step towards her, paused and looked back at the teacher. "This is great. Thanks."

Peter wasn't sure who he was trying to convince that this was, in fact, great. By the flickering smiles on the thirteen faces, it hadn't worked on anyone. He could only hope that he wasn't going to fail. He was Spider-Man. He could do ballet.

The music started. The students snapped to attention. Arms started swinging. Shoulders dipped. Legs flew. All worked like a perfect machine.

That fake confidence wavered.

They started with footwork that had numbers. The first four were variations of standing normally. He grasped what Gayle instructed was actually a barre not a bar and attempted to copy her. Peter discovered that she was a master of apathy. She barely said anything besides showing him the next step with less than anything close to enthusiasm.

This wasn't too bad at first. He put one foot beside the other in something that almost looked like ballet. The other dancers were doing things that he knew that he was never going to be able to learn. That looked like real dancing.

"Fifth." Gayle monotoned and adjusted her feet.

Peter copied it. "Fifth."

"No."

His feet were parallel and in front of each other. He shifted one a little more to the left. "This?"

"No."

He adjusted again. "This?"

"Still no." Now it was a sigh.

She moved over and shoved one slippered foot against his. His feet rammed against each other while going in opposite directions. The movement sent a wave of shock through his body at the strange new stretch. His back straightened and his thighs went rigid. The ache was immediate. Human bodies weren't supposed to do this.

Gayle slipped up. A touch of a laugh caught in her voice. "Fifth."

"Fifth."

He dropped out of the position and put his weight on the barre as he shook out his feet.

"Great. Let's add the arms."

"Arms?"

She stretched her arms up into a beautiful arch above her head. "Arms."

"I don't think I can do that."

"Oh. I think you can."

That was how fifteen minutes later he found himself wildly swinging his arms, legs and feet into a variety of French sounding poses as Mrs. Harrison clapped through the routine. At one point, he forgot the difference between all the variations that his feet could go. The possibilities of flexibility now made him realize the possibilities were endless.

The sweat that poured down his back seemed impossible. The others weren't even breathing hard as they rolled from move to move.

_Peter, your heart rate is high for being stationary. Would you like me to call medical services or report this as a bug? _Karen popped in as he took a shaky large breath.

"No. Neither." He muttered as he attempted a plie. He wasn't sure if he was going to be able to get back up.

_Would you like to label this type of exercise?_

"Ouch." Everything shook as he started to rise.

_Ouch exercise type implemented. I__'ll remember this from now on._

"Great."

"Mr. Spider-Man, hips tucked please and with _grace. _You are not being shot at, you are dancing," The instructor said as she passed. Attempting to comply almost made him break the barre that he was holding onto.

This went on for a deceptively short period of time. When the music faded, he was left feeling a quiver in his abs. He had made it. Somehow this was worse than anything else that had happened to him that day. Worse than the Statues of History, worse than Mr. Stark, worse than The Bugle. These kids had shown him just how painful everything could be.

Mrs. Harrison crossed her arms. "Alright. A group photo and signatures? Yes?"

The girls' poise disappeared. They scrambled across the room to dig in their dance bags. Peter leaned against the barre. Right, the reason that he had been here at all. He smiled and stretched. Things popped. He tried to not think about that too much.

"Would you like this?" The teacher pointed to her chair, the only seat that was in the room. It was a test.

"Nah. I'm good."

She smiled.

The group photo was actually fun. Peter decided to hang from the ceiling, waiving at the camera upside down. Behind the teacher, he could see all the students pile around him, large grins forming on their face in the mirror. They waved and grinned. Great. It was a good photo. It would make it online and then the Bugle would have something else to talk about.

Wait.

Mrs. Harrison adjusted the camera to get another shot. Spider-Man attempted an upside splits and everyone laughed as he struggled to point his toes.

Why was he doing this again? He was doing this to make the newspaper wrong or to help these students?

The camera lowered. It felt like he was locked in this awfulness. He sucked in his breath and dropped to the ground. The pink flooring barely made a noise as he hit it.

He turned to the smiling faces. "So I've got a request for you. I'm supposed to be…doing some top secret Spider-Man missions right now and all these photos…it can get me in real trouble 'cause it'll look like I'm slacking when I'm not. Can we keep them between us? You can keep the pictures to yourself? No social media? No friends?"

That made the smiles flicker and then they nodded solemnly.

Peter was lighter as he ran around, giving high-fives. Yes, this was what the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was supposed to do.

"Oh. Look. It's Spider-Man," Someone said from the door.

That voice. He knew that voice. It made him skip a step and twist to look.

MJ leaned against the door frame, arms crossed.

Oh shit. Instinctively, Peter reached for his face, to make sure that the mask was in place, but realized that he was dumb. He wouldn't take it off anyways. Still, he thought that she could see through those lenses.

Gayle jogged over to her.

"Hey little sis. Did he crash your class or something?"

How had he forgotten? He knew that. MJ mentioned the younger sister on occasion.

Somebody was putting a pen in his hand and was barely aware that he was signing a ballet shoe.

"He did."

MJ raised an eyebrow. "Was he terrible?"

"Oh yeah."

She smirked. "Excellent."

Peter was very thankful for the mask. He spelled "Spider-Man" wrong on somebody's notebook. He paused and pressed his hand against his ear.

"Yeah?" He asked loudly.

Everyone looked at him.

"Oh man." He leaned back. "Okay."

He addressed the class. "I've got to go. There's like a crime. And my mission. Sorry. This was fun."

He didn't look at anyone as he walked as quickly towards the door and towards MJ. This was a terrible plan. He probably smelled. Sweat was everywhere on him. He should have gone for the window. MJ didn't move as he was forced to stop in front of her. His stomach twisted over in his belly. He couldn't tell if that was from her or from the rapid movement after squeezing every ounce of strength of his body.

MJ squinted at him, not really allowing him to pass. "You're an…interesting height."

"Perfectly average, ma'am." He had to press by her and hoped that she wasn't breathing. Wait, he wanted her to keep breathing but maybe not right then.

"Not really…?" The question floated at his back.

He ran as quickly as he could away from everyone. Halfway down the hall, he realized that he was still holding someone's notebook. He tossed it at the receptionist and burst through the front door and away as far as he could.

* * *

_I just love this chapter. It's incredibly silly. What do you think?_

_Thanks for reading as always. -Quin_


	11. 4:00 pm

**4:00 p.m.**

"Hey. Dummy. Are we that boring to you?"

Peter Parker woke up with a start, rising from where he had been quietly drooling on foam plants. He was in the backstage of his high school theater. It was quiet and dark here. The theater kids weren't due in for rehearsal at 4:00 but well, they were theater kids. Peter had enough time for a quick nap.

His eyes focused on MJ with her arms crossed, staring down at him. "What _are_ you doing, Peter?"

The last time he had seen her, he had been in the suit. Frantically, he went to touch his face to make sure that he had taken his mask off but instead slapped his own forehead, hard.

MJ's eyebrow rose.

Regardless, he touched skin and also realized that he was wearing converse.

He was Peter Parker. Well, he was Peter Parker laying in a pile of half painted foam bushes for the upcoming production of Julius Caesar. It was good to be back to embarrassing himself as himself. At least Spider-Man's percentage of doing that was about 40%. The image of him attempting to do a plie came back to him. He might have to recalculate that percentage.

For a moment he had forgotten about the ballet thing.

He wanted to go back to that compared to now.

MJ's face was amused as he tried to arrange himself into a sitting position that looked cool.

"I was sleeping." Something pulled against his chin. He brushed his chin. It was wet. There was no way to make drool on your face cool.

"…yeah. I can see that."

He tapped against the floor and looked anywhere besides her. "So how did you find me here?"

"You're always exhausted so I thought about where I might go if I wanted a nap instead of decathlon."

"Oh no. Am I late?" He looked at the upper right where usually Karen put the time. All he got was curtains. He had to scramble to make it look like he was scratching his head and then looked at his watch. It was 4:10. Decathlon started at 4.

"It's not too terrible." She leaned forward. "I won't stab you in the back…yet."

"Et tu?" Peter realized he was smiling. He shouldn't be smiling. He tried to stop it. Who knew what MJ thought about him smiling at her. It could be weird.

"Non hodie." She rolled back with a smirk and offered her hand. He had no idea what she meant but it sounded alright to him. Somehow that made the monstrosity on his face grow.

She helped him to his feet. Somehow things hurt that he didn't know could hurt. His inner thighs and his sides felt like he had ripped them out and put them in upside down. He winced as he rubbed a knot hindering his ability to stand up straight.

MJ's smile faltered as her eyes rolled over him.

"You're an interesting height."

"I'm-" _Perfectly average _almost rolled out from his tongue but he held onto the words. "I'm just a guy."

He immediately kicked himself for saying that.

"_Really? _I didn't know that." She clearly didn't believe him. Her hand dropped out of his.

"Why do you ask?" He shoved his fingers in his pockets.

"You remind me of a guy." She said it so causally that it could have been the bagger at the grocery store.

"Who?"

The smile came across her face. "A perfectly average one."

He laughed and stared down at his shirt trying to keep her from seeing his eyes. The shirt was rumpled. When he had arrived at the school, he had done a very quick rise off to get the stink off. May had insisted that he keep "emergency deodorant and clothes" in his locker.

How did she know that he would need these things?

Hopefully MJ wouldn't notice nor would she figure out the Spider-Man thing.

"The theater dorks will be here soon." MJ headed towards the door. "And theoretically, I'm supposed to be running a meeting instead of being your own personal alarm clock. You coming or do you want to see the reenactment of some old white guy being stabbed by his friends?"

"Decathlon sounds better."

She looked over her shoulder, hair falling down her back, eyes caught in the dimmed stage lights. That stopped him directly in his tracks.

Why?

He couldn't put his finger on it.

There was just something about it.

There was something about her.

MJ laughed under the attention. "Then wake up, get moving and fix your hair. It's standing straight up. Somebody is going to tease you about that."

Shit.

The rest of the meeting went without a hitch once he was there. The next decathlon was aways off but they got together out of habit. Peter felt half melted in the chair as he leaned forward and answered as many questions as he could. It was incredible to be just a team player, not the star of attention.

Nobody needed saving if a question was answered wrong. Depending on how wrong his answer was, he could get scolded but the building wasn't going to collapse. It was during these moments that he had to trust that the world was running alright. It was selfish of him but he buried those thoughts by remembering the specific dates of battles during the Civil War.

The group eventually dispersed early until it was Ned and Peter arguing about Darth Vader's voice change from being Anakin Skywalker to the Sith Lord. MJ scrolled through her phone, adding peanut stand comments without interest.

Ned and Peter were about to get into a rock, paper, scissors match over it when MJ piped up. "Hey. Are you two doing anything tonight?"

"Ummm. I don't know?" Ned said and he looked at Peter. "I thought that you had _a thing_ you were doing tonight?"

He felt himself twist in his chair. He should say yes. He had every reason to say yes. Ned was giving him the easiest out in the world. He knew that. He was tired and achy. He really needed a nap and part of him knew that the Statues of History were going to strike again tonight. He needed to be out on the prowl. But how long was he going to wait out there in the night? How long did they expect for him to be there?

"I haven't figured it out yet. Why?" It wasn't a lie.

MJ showed her phone, a movie poster on the screen. "The cheapo theater is playing _Parasite_. It's a Korean film about working class anxiety. You know. The good stuff. It's supposed to be a riot. It starts at 6:45. What do you think?"

"Homework?" Ned stretched the word out in a question as his eyes drilled into Peter. Ned knew it too.

Ms. Gardiner's extra credit assignment.

Monday's pre-cal test.

SAT.

_Of Mice and Men._

The Bugle.

Statues of History.

The ballet trip was supposed to be fun but instead that was just another type of battle.

All he wanted was an hour of fun before everything dropped back into a life or death situation.

"Yeah. I think I could swing it," Peter said.

Immediately, all that pressure lightened. He felt himself mentally sing. He was doing something for himself. Purely for himself and it was going to be actual fun. He was going to have a moment of normal life.

"_Peter_," Ned hissed, "what about the _thing?_"

"No." MJ slapped her hand on the table. "It has been decreed by I, Michelle Jones, that Peter Parker, Edward Leeds and myself are going to have a cultural experience tonight at 6:45 p.m. at the shitty theater where the seats are their own type of torture."

"It has been decided." Peter shrugged noncommittally.

"There will be popcorn," she continued.

Peter nodded. "_Popcorn,_ Ned."

"And no killjoys are invited." MJ pointed her pencil at Ned.

"Fine, I won't be a good friend and try to remind Peter of his social responsibilities."

"Thanks, Ned."

"I concede but you have to admit that Darth's voice changed because of all the trauma that happened to him."

"No way!"

"Yes."

"No."

"You two are such geeks."

Peter laughed. It felt straight and different. Something was loosened in him. It felt strangely familiar. Maybe this was what life was supposed to feel like, studying with friends and arguing about pointless things that didn't matter. He was himself then. The spandex suit and the ache in his shoulders didn't mean anything.

It was just him and his friends.

* * *

_Since I started writing Spider-Man stories, I've been incredibly nervous about writing MJ. I wanted to represent her right and I didn't feel like I had a good handle on who she was as a character. I remember writing this chapter and having my "aha moment!". I was so glad for it._

_ Of course, this is silly considering I'm writing a whole series of short stories that is mostly Peter & MJ fluff (The Stragglers) but noting it seemed significant._

_I really love these late afternoon chapters. Peter needs the break. Don't worry. He's getting shot at later._

_What do you think?_

_Thank you for reading as always. -Quin_


	12. 5:00 pm

**5:00 p.m.**

It was after 5:30 when Peter finally made it back home. He took the stairs one at a time. He could do three or even four but that got strange looks. By the time he had gotten off the subway, his feet dragged so going faster than a normal pace was out of the question. Maybe it was the ballet or scrambling after the Statues of History time and time again.

There had been more ominous tweets from the bad guys but nothing had happened. He almost wished they would get it over with. They weighed on his shoulders.

Two eyes looked at him questioningly from the next landing. The small brown dog stared at him as if the animal had never seen him before.

"Verdell." Peter climbed the remaining stairs, slung his backpack off his shoulder and dropped it next to the animal. "Did you escape again?"

The dog blinked and looked absolutely dumbfounded. Peter winced as he sat down on the step next to him. The pet always escaped apartment 17. Unfortunately for him, he could only get halfway out the building before becoming lost and stopping entirely until someone returned him.

Peter let him sniff his hand and the animal sneezed, black ears flapping.

"The spider, I know," he said and slid close to the wall. The stairs were gross but he'd had a kinda gross day. Peter popped out his earbuds. His head had started pounding somewhere between 24th Street and DeKalb. It had eaten away at what was left of him. It was hard to tell if it was lack of sleep, stress or maybe not eating anything all afternoon. Carefully, he picked up the dog and sat him on his lap.

"What should I do?" He whispered inches from the black nose. "Should I stay in tonight? Should I cancel on MJ and Ned? Should I go out and track the bad guys?"

The dog continued to be clueless. Little paws pressed into his stomach and puffs of air tickled his face from the sniffing. Peter ran his fingers through his fur. Closing his eyes, he set his head against the wall.

He wished he could hear silence but instead his neighbors were talking about the Yankees. Apparently some guy was doing bad. Someone else was walking around her apartment in heels. Preteen Jennifer was playing Taylor Swift for the billionth time. He rolled his fingers through fur, getting them tangled. If there had been away to turn off Spider-Man for an hour, Peter would have loved it. Honestly, he didn't remember what silence sounded like.

Verdell sighed and settled down, laying his head against his chest. If he concentrated, he could count the tiny heartbeats. He got up to ninety-four before giving up and letting out his own breath.

Peter knew he should text MJ and Ned and back out.

He just didn't want to.

Thinking about canceling made him sick to his stomach and his heart twitched painfully.

It was his responsibility to keep this city safe but didn't have a responsibility to himself too? He turned his head and frowned at himself.

He had been working so hard. School was usually enough for a teen but he had to pile everything on top of it. May once teased him about being an overachiever. That was before either of one them knew what was going to happen.

Verdell's tail wagged and he realized that he had stopped petting the dog. He was being given the stink eye.

"Sorry." Peter said and rubbed his back again. Verdell put his head back down with a dramatic sigh.

There had to be a way to do both. Maybe he could ask Happy to keep an eye on things while he was in the movies and…what? That made no sense. Happy seemed _happy_ to help him on occasion but oftentimes he took after his employer. They could both be a very terrible combination of interested and disinterested.

It was confusing.

So was the rest of his life. Some things were amazing. He'd had lunch with Tony Stark. When Peter looked out on the city, he felt a possession of it like it was a younger brother. It was going to grow and change but he was there to protect it. He flew between the buildings and everyone knew that. He was bigger than himself.

Peter Parker was undoubtedly and indisputably Spider-Man.

"So I should send the text, right?" He shifted and pulled out his phone. "Be the better guy?"

Verdell had his eyes half closed. His chest clenched as he pulled up the group chat. MJ had sent them the poster and the message: _See you there losers._

"Be a better Spider-Man?" He asked the nose in a whisper. His backpack was in the corner of his eye. The new suit was stuffed in it next to the cookbook and his textbooks.

He didn't get a response from the dog. He tapped his fingers against his back and looked at all the scuff marks on the wall. The headache wasn't getting any better. If anything, it felt worse with thinking. He was dead tired.

The movie didn't sound like a chickflick but it would be an escape. When was the last time that he had hung out with friends? He couldn't remember outside of school events. All of that had been surgically cut out and tossed away months ago.

Peter rubbed his face. Was he actually lonely under all the jokes and hurrying? Was this what was haunting him?

"But maybe to be a better Spider-Man, I need to take care of Peter Parker too?" He asked. "Maybe I need a break?"

Tony Stark never needed a break. He was perfect.

Perhaps Peter wasn't quite there yet.

He could feel the temptation digging into him.

It was just a couple hours.

He could relax.

Nothing bad would happen.

Faintly, he could hear May singing to a song with the clatter of dishes she was washing.

"Okay, Verdell, time to go home." He tucked the dog under his arm and pulled his backpack on.

The rest of the stairs were easier and as usual, apartment 17's door was ajar. Peter popped the dog back inside and closed the door firmly. Once he had asked why this kept happening. Apparently the middle schooler who lived there kept forgetting to make sure the door was closed. He smiled to himself as he made it to his door. That was something that Ben used to get on him about.

Even having his uncle scold him was a fond memory now.

The door opened to the amazing smell of lasagna in the oven.

"Hey there is my superhero," May called over from the sink. "Before six. I'm so proud of you."

He tossed his backpack on the ground and left all those worries at the door. There was food to eat.

* * *

_Not too much to say. We're rolling along. I'm in love with Verdell and want him in real life. What do you all think?_

_Thanks for reading as always. -Quin_


	13. 6:00 pm

_Thanks to the eagle eye readers who noticed I posted last week's chapter this week...again...Peter isn't the only one who needs rest. Without further adieu..._

**6:00 p.m.**

Okay.

A couple mistakes had been made.

All in succession.

Peter really didn't have time to think about it.

Instead, he spun out another web quickly. His backpack slapped against his spine. It was empty except for the overdue library book and his street clothes, the things that he was supposed to be wearing. The night lights bloomed in his eyes as Karen constantly adjusted for the streetlights. The city below him had no detail except blurs. Karen's map kept him on track and on the best route.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Holding the webbing, he pulled it out. This was one of the many occasions that he wished he had bluetooth. Karen would be able to display all his messages. Unfortunately, bills continued to come in and he didn't have time for another job.

The "dumb phone", as Flash called it, would have to do. The screen lit up as he arched upwards and shot a new web, preferring to freefall instead of putting away the phone and grasping onto the old rope until the new one caught.

_6:54 from Ned Leeds: PETER._

_6:54 from Ned Leeds: WHERE ARE YOU?_

_6:54 from Ned Leeds: WE'RE HERE AND ON OUR FOURTH TRAILER._

_6:54 from Ned Leeds: FOURTH._

_6:56 from Ned Leeds: MJ IS GETTING SUSPICIOUS. SIX TRAILERS IN._

Peter realized he was crashing towards the ground. The sidewalk appeared at an alarming rate. Looking up, he was gripping a web that wasn't attached to anything. Panic bloomed. He dropped his phone. The now free hand shot out a web to the nearest wall. Snapping his head up, he saw it connect and then looked down. Dropping the loose thread in his other hand, he spun out another web to his falling phone as he moved away from it.

It barely caught.

Then it banged into a light pole, spinning off into the street, the screen shimmering.

Peter yanked it up quickly as he landed on a wall. There was a new crack in the screen. The CPU was fine. The screen hadn't gone black. Somehow. This phone turned out to be the "Nokia" of his generation or at least that was what Tony said. Mr. Stark had confiscated the phone when Peter had texted someone in front of him. He wasn't sure what a Nokia was until he googled it.

_COMING. FELL ASLEEP ON SUB._ He typed with his thumb and sent it. Before anything else could happen, he stuffed it away. He wasn't going to push his luck.

He'd woken up on the subway eight stops past the one that he was supposed to get off on. He could have blamed it on the three pieces of lasagna but he knew better. The sleep was deep and immediate. When he pulled himself out, he felt drunk or what he thought drunk to feel like. Peter had been tipsy once and he hadn't liked it. That was before the spider-thing. The nap had been his healing kicking in. His headache was gone and the aches in his body were almost nonexistent.

The phone chirped in his pocket. Don't look at it, he told himself as he swung across traffic.

Karen told him that he was about four minutes away from the theater. Peter tried not to grit his teeth. Momentum took him around a building.

Something flashed in the distance. That was a picture going on the internet. He wondered how long it would take for it to be put on _WhereIsSpidey? _That Twitter page was eerie. First, it was alien to him that a super fan existed who compiled every sighting of him. Secondly was the corresponding website with the _maps_. The fan would trace his paths through the city. This was frighteningly sortable by daily, weekly and now monthly averages and future estimates.

It was through this that the internet had figured out he either took the N, B or the Q line into the city and that Spider-Man most likely left the subway at Washington Square.

That was one stop away from the truth and too close to comfort.

The texts burned through his pocket into his thigh. What did Ned say? Or was it Aunt May? She had agreed to be on duty for him tonight. She'd keep her eyes on the news and if the Statues of History did anything, she'd call him.

He let go of the web and let himself arch down to land on a sign. The phone came out.

_6:57 from Ned Leeds: YOU ARE CATCHING NARCOLEPSY._

_6:57 from Ned Leeds: I TOLD MJ._

He puffed out his breath. Another light flashed off in the distance driving him to move again. He was close enough that he could change and sprint the rest of the way.

With the press armed with cameras this close, he had to be careful. He swung into an alley behind the theater. He never thought when he started this that Spider-Man would be on a constant search for dumpsters. It wasn't glamorous. The suit came off quickly and his street clothes resumed.

The lenses of the mask glinted in the light. It was okay. He could be Peter Parker for a little while.

Peter texted as he jogged out of the alley._*BECOMING NARCOLEPTIC. COME LET ME IN PLEASE._

Ned had bought his ticket and in case there was a run on a movie about the disparity between the lower and upper class. A kid gave him a strange look as he ran in front of him. He had no way of knowing. He swallowed that anxiety. It was part of his life.

As he waited at the door, he stuffed his hands into his pockets. Sometimes he was only one mistake away from being found out and his whole world crashing down around him.

Ned opened the door. "What took you so long? Seriously. The dramatic music is starting _now._"

Peter's converse slipped against the ground as he hurried. "Sorry. I had to swing back and there were cameras everywhere."

Ned muttered something under his breath that weren't words and disappeared back inside.

Peter couldn't help the skip in his step as he grasped his ticket. Ned already had their popcorn and the lobby had that vibe of an old theater, all claustrophobic and heavy curtains. It desperately needed a remodel but Peter hoped it never happened. Excitement burned in his chest.

The ticket was torn in half and given back to him by someone his age.

They jogged across the carpet to the second theater. Popcorn crunched under them. A grin grew on his face. He couldn't help it.

It was beautiful inside. The room was shades of gray and black. Ned shuffled down the stairs, having more trouble finding steps. MJ's hair caught white in the light of the scene. Two other sets of people were in there. One was a group his age and the other were old people.

"Come on," Ned whispered and gestured with his hand, "I know you want to."

He was waving to the aisle with MJ. He didn't think that the smile could get much bigger. He moved in and his friend followed.

MJ glanced up. "What's up late loser."

"H-h-hey. Can I sit here?"

Her eyes flashed to the subtitles and then she waived to the seat. Peter sat down entirely unsure what to do with himself. He moved his legs together and crossed his arms but that felt too strange. He tried to be looser but then MJ leaned over.

"They've been talking about this rock that brings fortune and the younger guy's friend is here."

Peter nodded.

Those words meant nothing to him. He was sitting next to MJ and her fingers might have brushed his arm. His brain had completely disappeared into a black vacuum. This shouldn't matter. MJ was just a girl. Complete nuclear meltdown of his senses shouldn't occur. MJ finished another sentence and that time he realized he hadn't even caught a word of it.

She pulled back and stuffed an entire handful of popcorn in her mouth.

He swallowed. Hard.

Before he could go back to worrying about what he was doing with his hands again, Ned put their popcorn container there. He took a couple kernels and popped them in.

Ned reached over and grabbed a handful and MJ chuckled at something.

Yeah.

Peter leaned back in the incredibly uncomfortable seat.

This was worth it.

* * *

_A couple of shorter chapters are coming your way. Also, there will be Parasite spoilers coming._

_What do you think?_

_Thank you for reading as always. -Quin_

_P.s. Don't worry, nothing bad will happen while Peter is at the movies._


	14. 7:00-9:00 pm

**7:00 p.m. - 9:00 p.m.**

Statues of History StatuesofHistory - 7:03 p.m.

_How does it feel to lose something you love?_

Statues of History StatuesofHistory - 7:27 p.m.

_Have you lost enough to know what it feels like to lose part of yourself? Your culture?_

Statues of History StatuesofHistory - 8:35 p.m.

_We don__'t think so._

Statues of History StatuesofHistory - 8:58 p.m.

_Shall we start the show?_


	15. 10:00 pm

**10:00 p.m.**

It was at the end of the movie that Peter started to worry.

The theater was an isolated place. He couldn't check his phone. MJ would crucify him. He couldn't get up. He was locked between his two best friends. The wall to the left kept rumbling with screams and explosions. He kept remembering that it had to be an action movie. _Parasite_ didn't help as the plot reared its real head. The music and the action grated against him. Of course it did. It was supposed to. Somehow this was a horror film.

His phone stayed quiet against his thigh. May would call if anything came up. He knew that. He should enjoy the film. It was rare that he did something like this. She'd call him.

Unless his phone was dead.

Or broken.

Or there was no signal in the room.

He bounced his heel crushing popcorn. Stop. The phone was fine and the city was equally as fine. Worrying did nothing except make him worry more. Someone smart had said that. Why was he obsessing? If it was bad enough, Iron Man or somebody would come to the rescue. Mr. Stark might ask him why he wasn't there and he had to admit that he went to the movies and completely threw away his responsibilities.

He groaned.

He had a way to ruin everything.

Ned adjusted next to him. Well, there was nothing that he could do about it now unless he wanted to ruin the movie for them. He couldn't leave.

Instead, he tried to concentrate on the movie. It was waterlogged and dark. The family struggled. He felt his thoughts slip away as the score heightened and the sun came back out.

He should have seen the violence coming.

Looking back, it was so easy to see how the movie was going to end.

The blood that oozed from Jessica's shoulder made his stomach curl.

It wasn't right.

It had the same look as a plastic apple, good enough but when you glanced closer, it was stale and lifeless. He knew too much. The real stuff had been on his hands. What was on the screen was red water, not the stuff that had the ability to fill his stomach with panic as it soaked warmly through his suit.

Even then, it was okay when he got hurt. He could heal. Not everyone was that lucky.

Peter shivered as the Kim and the Park families screamed, trying not to think about the family that he had pulled out of a wreck last week.

It had reported that everyone had survived but all he could see in his mind was the limp bodies.

May had looked him in the eyes and told him that he had saved them.

He should believe her.

The phone continued to stay quiet.

Just as Peter had calculated, the film ended after 10 p.m. and by then he was convinced that the Statues of History had struck or a bridge collapsed or something was on fire.

"Bathroom." Peter vaulted the seats in front of them as the credits rolled. He wished he had jogged but it was a run. He was the first one out of the theater, bushing in front of an old couple.

He barely caught MJ's dry "wow". His ears burned.

New cracks showed across the screen from smashing it into the light pole a couple hours earlier as he checked his notifications. He half jogged to the bathroom but it was automatic as he stared at his screen in disbelief.

Nothing.

Zero notifications.

He refreshed it again.

The phone was quiet.

Maybe that hit had been too hard.

He stepped into the bathroom and put the phone to his ear.

May answered on the second ring. "Hey. Did you like the movie?"

"Is everything okay? I kept worrying that everything wasn't okay and I started worrying really badly and-"

May cut him off. "Peter. Everything is fine. Your baddies haven't done anything. A couple ominous tweets but they were blowing hot air. It's only been a couple hours."

Peter leaned against the wall. The TV buzzed through the line. She was sitting on their couch watching the news. It was okay. The risk was alright. He had been worrying for no reason.

"Not everything happens constantly, we can all take a breather every once and awhile," May continued, "Now did you like the movie?"

Peter was laughing but it was silent against his ribs. He pushed the phone closer to his face and peeked back out to see his two friends waiting for him.

"It was good. Hey, how long are you up? Can you watch out for me a little longer? Ned mentioned ice cream."

"You've got thirty minutes bud and then you're turning back into a squash."

"A pumpkin."

"That's right. The wine is talking."

The call ended. Peter relaxed against the wall in relief. He'd done okay. Nobody was going to be mad and he didn't fail. His head shook as he laughed at himself. That was all a little silly, wasn't it?

"Ice cream?" MJ asked with just the word when he rolled out of the bathroom. There was a shimmer in her eyes as if her mind was working a hundred miles an hour to figure out everything about the film that they had just seen. Ned raised an eyebrow at him as he checked the time.

"Ice cream." Peter confirmed.

So that's how they all ended up at a frozen yogurt place up the street. It was the closest place and they could get three seats together at a bar. The place was cold and pop music played too loudly.

"Cheers to Peter." MJ raised her paper cup. Her fingers were shiny with melted yogurt.

"Cheers to me?" he asked around his spoon.

Ned lifted his cup as well. "Cheers to Peter."

He pulled the spoon. "What did I do now?"

"You didn't sleep through the movie. Congratulations." She dipped her cup seriously in his direction. "You perhaps are not becoming narcoleptic."

Ned whooped, gathering looks from the bored employees and the few other people. One person even clapped but was unsure what the occasion was. Peter buried his head in his arms.

"You are terrible."

"Go Peter! You managed to stay awake for a good period of time," Ned said.

"Why do I hang out with you?" He asked the fabric.

MJ's chair groaned as she laughed. Ned's cheering drifted off as Peter imagined that he had taken another bite of yogurt. Sadly, they were right. It was commendable. The teasing felt good. They knew him well and that familiarity made him warm.

"So did you notice that Parks went up the stairs but everyone else always descended?" MJ asked.

"I can one up you. I can't believe that somebody was killed with that rock. It's so meta." Ned shot back.

Peter sat up and pulled out his phone. "I saw this cat video I was going to send to Ned and I didn't get it but now I think I do…"

He would have to leave soon as he pulled up that video. They leaned close to look as the classical music from the movie played over cats doing clever things. They laughed with him and all at once, Peter felt at home.

* * *

_Enjoy the last of the cuteness. It is all Spider-Man action from here. I really liked writing these chapters with Ned, MJ and Peter in them. It probably was part of the inspiration to start my short story series (_The Stragglers)_. We are coming in on the end here! There are only a few more chapters left._

_What do you think?_

_Thanks for reading as always, -Quin_


	16. 11:00 pm

**11:00 p.m.**

Spider-Man crouched on the building, hidden in the shadows of the hour before midnight.

The suit was gray and black against the lights of the city. People walked below him, drunk with their laughter drifting up in pieces. He didn't notice them. Instead, the lenses reflected the white columns and banners of another building. The steps were dotted with tourists and taxis waiting by the street for them to get tired and go home.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art didn't look like it was about to be broken into.

Peter was sure of it. He shifted in his seat, feeling the suit roll across his shoulders. It felt good now especially having been outside of it for a couple hours. After the bite, he could do things that were impossible and this suit, this identity, Spider-Man, allowed him to help people.

Something had clicked when Peter walked out of the frozen yogurt place. The knots in his shoulders were gone and he was lighter. It was an emotional reset. Things that weren't okay had become okay. He would do what he had to do now and there was nothing else to it.

Spider-Man held his breath as a couple took a cute photo in front of the building. The Statues of History had hit the other big museums. It would be idiotic if they didn't take out another big landmark. The Met had released a statement that they were "taking extra precautions" for the next few days.

The breeze ran up his back.

Karen scanned the police stations silently. The icon pulsed in the corner of his vision. She'd unmute for something if it was more than regular chatter. His heart rate was up. That was fine. He put a hand against the rooftop, pressing it and feeling the cold between his fingers. He was ready.

It came about fifteen minutes later in the form of a buzzing off to his left.

It was a glint of metal in the sky. Karen triggered immediately, scanning the picture and identifying that it was another of the same drone class as before. Peter's heart was in his ears. It was time to go. The drone hovered before settling like a fly on the latter back corner of the building.

He wasn't surprised. They were going after American art and most of the prominent American art and statues were in that half of the building. The radios stayed quiet. Security hadn't found it. He took a breath and then leapt off the roof. He swung across the space and landed carefully onto the roof. The tourists were laughing from the front of the building. He laid low against the roof.

A buzz came from the same direction. Another drone hovered in, almost quiet as it settled neatly next to the first one. Karen said nothing. A small amount of pride rippled in his chest. He had been right. Now it was just the rest of it.

A line of six drones appeared and landed in a line on the glass skylight over the next ten minutes. The black armor glinted from the moon. He waited. There were no people with them. It was strange. These people usually were there with their machines. If the Bugle could see him now, he was sure that they would say that he was failing to keep his promise to his people or something like that.

But at this moment, he didn't care. He had bigger things to worry about.

The last engine kicked off and the drones sat. Black straps were neatly tied to each machine. Steel clasps lined the straps for easy adjustment.

Still he waited.

Red lights flickered on them and then they hummed back to life. Lifting off the ground, they had each deposited a little black dot on the glass. He backed up a couple feet.

The glass shattered.

The alarm wailed.

The drones dipped into the atrium as one. Karen started buzzing in his head. The MET was reporting a break in to the police. All security in the museum was supposed to report to the Charles Engelhard Court. The cameras were down. The threat was unknown. The police were on their way.

He muted the feed.

Peter held his breath in the silence and crawled forward to look in. The glass was completely ruptured open to the sky. The sharp edges were pink in the red lights from below. The inside of the courtyard looked like it was covered in bloody stars. A jab of pain brought his attention back to himself. Shattered pieces of glass were stuck to the fabric of his glove. The biggest piece was digging into his palm.

He pulled it out and tossed it. A blotch of red was already forming but he looked back down.

Security flooded the courtyard. They pulled down wire doors as they ran, trapping the machines. The drones hovered around a gold statue of a naked lady with a bow and arrow. The security shouted and grasped for their waistbands. Their shoes crunched against the floor. They mobbed around the statue getting in between the machines and the statue.

A power drill ground against marble.

Peter smiled despite himself.

These guys were good.

The six Statues of History dressed as security fanned out, systematically pulling the straps from the machines. Three of them worked with power drills. Chunks of marble fragmented against the floor. They muttered as they wrapped a harness around the arms and waist of the woman and then snapped them to the drone's straps. Other shouts came from the hallways and metal rattled.

Peter waited.

One of the Statues pulled out a phone. The drones hummed as they hung in the air. Three of the six people still remained with the woman as the others hurried around. Those Statues dragged ropes from the remaining drones and clipped their comrades to them. They started to hurry as the shouts grew angrier from outside the gallery. Somebody was threatening to shoot them.

The Statue with the phone ran back and pressed a button. She watched as her fingers worked the screen. The others jumped back. The drones jerked upwards together. The ropes strung taunt. Machines squealed. The marble crackled and split. The gold woman lifted an inch above dais and the drones stopped.

Pulling black orbs from their pockets, they threw them at the statue. Red paint exploded. It covered and dripped off the statue. The white marble podium looked like someone had been killed on it. The phone's flash washed it all white and then the Statue brought up the phone to check the screen.

Her thumbs up moved everything into motion. They ran to the still drones. The ropes that they were attached to laid flat on the ground. They snapped a clip from their waist onto the rope, making them connected twice.

A gun went off. They flinched but no one fell.

The air conditioning kicked on in Peter's suit. The air felt icy against his skin. Karen was flashing a red symbol in the corner. She was trying to tell him that a theft or something else important was happening and that he should engage.

Instead Peter crawled back, trying to blend in with shadows.

Now the drones rose. The black rope took up each person in an eerily smooth practice. Another shot went off. Another panel of the glass atrium fell in. Sirens filled Peter's ears behind him. A red hand print was on the silver edging of the atrium. Hopefully no one would see that.

The Statues of History came out first. The black line and the blue suits of the security officers blended together as they were pulled high into the sky. One group went to the right and the other went to the left. He wasn't interested in them. All day he had been chasing down the people. That hadn't got him or any authority anywhere.

So tonight, he wasn't going after them.

He was going after the art.

Tony Stark had been right. He needed to find out where they were. There was a fat bronze woman, a dinosaur skull and now a girl in gold that needed saving.

There was only way that he was going to be able to do that.

And that was to let them steal something.

So that was exactly what Spider-Man had done.

One drone zipped out and angled itself back down. A large camera was attached to its back. It hovered as it watched the other two drones rise. The gold face of the statue stared at him as it passed in the darkness, the eyes dead and emotionless about its current crisis. It moved slowly. The other camera spotted for the other two, going back and forth as it looked for the jagged edges.

The woman lifted off. Yet, the camera drone didn't follow. It was paused. The lens studied the red hand print smudged against the steel. It dipped up, scanning the roof.

Peter shifted his feet.

Spider-Man stopped waiting.

He leapt directly at the drone. It hit him in the chest as he grasped for the camera. It tumbled off balance. The city spun. They skidded back in the air and he barely saw the intact panel of the atrium before they hit it. The machine screeched to a halt. White specks of dust flew around them. The glass held. Then Peter's body weight slammed against it.

The glass burst.

They were falling again into the museum. The white columns swirled in his vision as they tumbled. He pushed off the drone and desperately spun a web at the ceiling. It went taunt and he swung off. The drone cried as the blades double timed to right itself. Peter landed on some guy's face. There was no breaking sound of the drone. Not good. He twisted to see.

It hovered inches from the floor and the armor pushed back to reveal a gun. They were getting smarter.

He felt the strain as the other drones got away but he didn't have a choice. Bullets came as he was forced to leap away. Grunting, he landed on the tile. The ground wavered close as his center of balance went. He barely kept on his feet. The glass slid against the souls of his shoes making it icy. The drone curled to the left and took aim again. Peter's foot slipped out from under him. The gun sent out another round of bullets.

He cried out.

The hit was hard on his shoulder as he fell. Spider-Man sent out one more desperate attempt and webbed the machine neatly before pulling it hard. It fought and then dropped. The camera hit first and snapped. Whoever had eyes were blinded.

Peter laid on the floor catching his breath. He found himself half curled up and pressing his hands against his stomach. The pain reverberated up and down his spine and throbbed in his shoulder. Karen buzzed something in his ear but he wasn't paying attention. He waited as the drone hummed one more time and died fully.

A deep breath shuttered through him. Good.

Spider-Man sat up and brushed the glass from his suit. He shook his head to clear the last of the vibrations and spun out a web to pull himself out of the museum. He was going to feel those bruises tomorrow. It was a small cost to pay for the Statues of History thinking that he was incapacitated in the middle of the Met with bullets in his stomach. They had crossed him off the list. No way he was going to follow if he was bleeding out.

Momentum threw him high into the sky as concentrated on what Karen was telling him. Her reports were faulty at best. He would never tell her that but this information came from things that she gathered on the fly, security cameras, police reports and people taking photos. Still, the golden statue was reported to be heading towards the Hudson, again.

All he could see was the negative space that the piece of art wasn't. He pulled hard against the next web, feeling himself fly through the city that he loved.

Time tapped against his back.

He was running after it again.

Typical Peter Parker.

The clock ticked over to midnight.

* * *

_Anybody who has read a bit of my work probably has noticed that near the end of a story I write a "trilogy" of chapters that usually is the climax. This is that first chapter in this one. This was so much fun to write. I don't write a lot of "classic/action-y" Spider-Man stuff so it delights me to do it._

_Well, in a month exactly, I'll be wrapping this guy up. That's scary! We've been at this story for four months now..._

_What do you think?_

_Thank you for reading as always. -Quin_


	17. 12:00 am

**12:00 a.m.**

Peter fell into a rhythm as he raced after the statue.

Shoot.

Catch.

Pull.

Release.

He had to get to it before the Statues of History flew her over the Hudson and out of his reach. That was the one thing that he didn't have a Plan B. The webbing floated behind him like ghosts. The strands hovered in the air as they caught the lights below.

Momentum carried him upwards and he shot out another web. This one landed high on the building and as he eased himself onto it, the sweep longer than usual. This let him take a second to breath. His lungs burned and the new air strengthened him. Just like a kid's swing, he let go at the top of the arch and allowed the energy to carry him further.

He was alright.

He knew he was alright.

He hadn't seen the stolen statue since he fought the drone but it was close.

It was fine. He was catching up.

A web spooled out of his wrist and snapped into his hand. His arm straightened as it pulled him around another block, leaving the rest of his body to lengthen with the energy. What would Tony say if he missed yet another chance to find these people and bring them all in? He forced it down. Well, if that happened, he would figure it out. Somehow.

Spider-Man rounded the corner.

Then he saw it. A glint of gold winked at him.

Well, the Bugle might have to sing a different tune tomorrow.

The two drones worked through the city as they hauled the statue out of the city. They weren't flying too high, probably afraid that if they rose high, a police helicopter might shoot them down. Karen's lock on the drones went from a yellow to a green as he gained on them.

Neither one of the drones had a camera mounted to them. He was sure there were sensors and GPSs but they wouldn't have included the earlier drone if they were fully capable. The engines roared in his ears. Now came the tricky part but something else edged onto him.

The map on his screen was going a dark blue in front of him.

The golden lady was a few moments away from getting a new kind of view.

Peter moved quicker than he knew was possible. Carefully, he put himself directly behind the drones. They shouldn't be able to detect him but if there was going to be a weak spot, it was going to be there.

Now he could see the water winking at him. He was going to run out of vertical space. He learned this lesson too many times. Crash landing in Central Park was only fun the first fifteen times. The sweat came down his back. He looked at the two drones, figuring out how he planned to do this. Now they were a hundred feet away from the water.

He felt a shake in his fingers as he set himself up for the swing.

There was no time for that.

So he did it.

Taking the web that he was using, Peter got himself horizontal with the ground and he let go. Dropping through the air and towards the street, he aimed and spun two webs at the drones. The webbing hissed towards the machinery and he dropped closer to the ground. He needed his both webs to connect at the same time to distribute the weight. If everything worked, he would ride across the river on the back of a stolen piece of art.

The left piece connected and clipped off into his fingers. The right kept going. Not good. He could see the webbing as it missed a hair to the left of the drone. His head whirled. If he held on, he would throw the left drone into a spin and the Statues would know. If he let it go, he would fall and that would be that.

His left fingers let the web slip away.

It was too late to catch himself so he prepared for the ground. He skidded hard against the pavement. He rolled across his shoulders before landing on his feet. His focus never left the art. His chest heaved as he pushed into a sprint immediately. He wasn't going to fail.

His head spun. The statue was five feet away from the edge of the water. This was going to be a repeat of last night. The remaining shards on his shoes crunched until he left the ground as a web caught on a street light. Every muscle in his body tightened as he threw himself forward. He needed to be there now.

The distance was too great.

The drones carried the statue over the open water. The gold winked out into another dark shape in the night. His web floated off the left drone.

No.

Peter's breath was stuck in his throat.

He couldn't have this happen.

He had fought for this. He was giving up studying to keep up his grades for this. This was what he was supposed to be good at.

Twisting in the air, he turned his back to the statue and shot a web up the side of a seaside tower. It went high and he had to pull to get any lift. The turn yanked on his spine and something popped. Spider-Man slammed his feet against the outside wall, squatting with the pressure. He climbed. Gravity tried to peel him off. Using the web like a rope, he scaled up as far as his nerves would allow him. The drones would continue to move if he was looking at them or not, inching further and further out of range.

It ended up being only a few stories before he stopped.

The lights on the drones were pin pricks against the dark water.

This wouldn't happen again.

He leapt off and pulled open his parachutes.

The ground slipped away from him and into the open water. It was only a matter of distance now. He hoped that he had been high enough up to make up the difference. Peter adjusted as the wind played under his arms.

The first time he had practiced with this part of his suit, he had done everything wrong. The web nets needed a tug to get out entirely. After that problem, he couldn't keep himself from dipping and spinning. Twenty bruises and a bloody nose later, he had given up on figuring it out solo.

Ned had spent three hours with Peter in a warehouse perfecting the glide. He'd sprinted back and forth from the ground, shouting to move his arm or leg. Peter didn't even want to think about learning to turn and how he had scrambled up with Ned's laughter in his ears too many times. Without his friend, there was no way that this idea would have even slightly worked.

The ocean started to get closer but the statue was far off in the distance.

His vision started to blur around the edges. He took a breath and held out for further. Karen told him he was about forty feet out. That was too far. To spin out the webs to attach the statue, he would have to release the parachute entirely. That would be essentially a direct dive into the ocean. Karen monitored the winds as well. It wasn't too bad but it wasn't working for him. The city could be worse than this.

He drifted a bit to the right. He jerked back.

Thirty feet.

A white light flashed to his right.

A tourist yacht sat out further in the river. That wasn't good. If that photo got online, his "being out of commission" was completely blown. The muscles in his back knotted. Sometimes this city felt like it was against him.

Twenty-five feet.

He leaned to the right. Spray from the water was starting to tickle his feet. This was cutting it close. A swim in the river became very real. The suit was waterproof but he would be in the middle of the Hudson. It was a long way to either side. Maybe he could make it to a boat instead but then there would be all those people asking him questions. He would have to tough it out. He would deserve it.

Swimming back and knowing that he failed sounded awful.

The gold statue swayed back and forth.

Nineteen feet.

He was running out of time now. If he let go, he would have a couple of seconds before it became an aquatic affair.

The web from his attempt before fluttered his way.

He didn't have a moment to think. He disengaged the parachute, grasped onto the old web and shot out the other. The drop caught in his gut. The black water jumped up. Peter held his breath and closed his eyes. His feet hit the water.

His right arm tugged under the connection with the drone. It pulled him upwards quickly away, out of the cold water. He smiled and laughed as the momentum got him behind the machines. The wind tugged against the suit. The drones kept their course. He had done it. The feeling of victory was amazing as he pulled himself up. Tony wasn't going to laugh at him or even know about this close call. His fingers clung onto the torn up marble at the bottom of the statue itself.

Hauling himself up onto the ledge made the statues sway. He froze. The drones didn't hesitate. Carefully, Spider-Man eased into sitting. Peter felt himself kick his feet over the empty space and chuckle. Well, maybe that had been a bit of fun in the end.

The black water blurred underneath him as he caught his breath. The drones continued on their preprogrammed path without a care of what was going on around them. Apparently the added weight meant little to the sensors. The sounds of cars and city life started to fade. Watching, the city that he spent his life in turned into a miniature. Ned and Peter had spent an hour oogling over a LEGO NYC set of the iconic skyline. Had it not been so much money, Ned probably would have bought it for him for his birthday.

It was quiet. The adrenaline burned in him.

"Karen, when are we going to make it to the other shore?"

_At the current rate Peter, we will arrive in Union City in approximately ten minutes. _

"Thanks."

He pulled out his phone.

Ned and MJ were actively having a conversation about Parasite. Now it was things that he would have never noticed. Apparently the movie was supposed to be a play and MJ was examining how the context and the themes would have changed with such a viewpoint. By Ned's "yeah"s and "you're right"s, he was way over his head.

Peter found himself smiling and bopping his foot up and down.

The phone snapped shut and he straightened, breathing in the cold air of the night. He was fine. MJ was just a girl he knew, nothing more. Right?

But she was so smart.

The smile came back with vengeance.

The drones hummed in the background. Okay. Maybe a deep emotional dive would have to come at a different time. His fingers drummed against his phone. The breeze worked through the fabric onto his face. He needed to do something. He couldn't just wait.

New Jersey came out before him as he drilled the pre-cal flashcards on his phone.

He had once read in one of those time management articles that was written in a bullet point list that he should take the surprise dead moments he got in his life to complete simple tasks. This happened to be one of those tasks and well, what else was he going to do? He flipped through them, trying to remember all the formulas. A glance up showed New Jersey coming into better detail.

He flipped through a few more.

Man, why did school have to be such a drag sometimes?

More than a few of the formulas appeared to be stuck in his head. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

_Mr. Parker, we are arriving in Union City._

Peter stiffened. Karen had said "Mr. Parker". At one point, he had thought that it was a UI hiccup. It had happened a few times before he had figured it out. Usually later after a "Mr. Parker", either Mr. Stark or Happy would ask him very specific questions about those events. Things that they wouldn't have known just from the news. Karen grew more formal when the billionaire tuned into his suit.

His heart rate on the screen ticked up.

It was fine.

It was absolutely fine.

He was doing his best.

The phone slipped back into his pocket and he crawled to the backside of the statue in case there was anybody watching from the shoreline.

His fingers were plastered out in front of him. It wasn't a very exciting view. Maybe he should peek out? No. He had to do what was right for him in this situation. This wasn't a movie he was filming. Nothing had changed.

Peter realized he was holding his breath.

The shore came quickly and Peter dropped from the statue as seamlessly as he could. Spooling out a web, he swung into a tree. The closer that he was to the statue from here, the more likely they were to spot him. He watched the golden woman start to fly away. It was taking a bit of a zigzag path, avoiding areas where there was light. The Statues of History worked hard on making this as fool proof as possible.

It ascended past the rows of expensive condos. Most of the windows were dark this late at night. Still, the moon shimmered off the metal now that they were out of the shadow of the large buildings of NYC.

Spider-Man followed it away from the city.

It was a good bit into following this statue that he realized that he wasn't quite sure what his plan was. Catching the Statues in the act was a big part of it certainly but he had already done that. He was tracking down their base because that was what Mr. Stark had said to do. Also the rest of the artwork was in there. Then what? He swung after the Statue as it started to work its way into a more industrial part of Union City.

NYC completely disappeared from his map for a bit now. It felt empty to not see the regular blocks in the corner of his map.

He crawled over a roof to work towards an area that had a more industrial feeling. The buildings became taller and stouter. May would kill him if she realized just how far away he was. That made him pause for a moment. It was very possible that the media had picked up on him being "shot". May kept her eye on him.

Pulling out his phone, he thumbed with one hand from a street pole. _Not shot. Just acting. Chasing. Later._

The phone buzzed immediately in his pocket.

_12:39 from Aunt May: YOU PRETENDED TO GET SHOT?_

Oops. He dropped down entirely to the street. His fingers hovered over the screen. She had probably been asleep and now probably scrambling to check the news. That might not have been the best move now that he thought about it. The statue was settling down towards an old warehouse. Already Karen was pointing out the various security cameras that were hidden.

He tapped a message on the screen. He shifted his weight and kept an eye on the gold statue descending. May's future scolding was going to be heavy if he didn't explain at least a little more now. Now he knew the building so it was only a matter of getting closer and then webbing everything insight.

_I__'m really okay._

He got that far in writing the message. A breeze tickled over the back of his neck. It didn't feel good.

There wasn't a chance to look behind him.

Something hard collided with his skull.

He heard the crack.

The pain shocked him.

And he was gone.

* * *

_Oops._

_You know, I often feel like when I am writing FF that I'll be going along cheerily and then my fingers slip and something like this happen. Did you see that one coming?_

_Thanks for reading as always._

_Quin_

_Also, the funny thing is I am committed to writing up to the end of an hour, meaning I can't cut these babies off if I want a chapter break. What does this mean? An extra long chapter._


	18. 1:00 am

**1:00 a.m.**

"He's so small."

"Quit that."

The voices echoed from a distant place in his head.

"But he's so _small _and this guy weighs over 90 kilograms. How is that possible?"

This was strange.

"What?"

Peter couldn't move. He couldn't think.

"The drones. The extra weight that triggered was 91 kilograms."

He couldn't find the pain. There should be pain. It was all numb. His arms and legs, he couldn't feel them. He tried to hold onto anything but his grip slipped and he fell back into blackness.

The voices brought him back around. Somebody squeezed his head so hard it was going to crack.

"Check those ties again."

"But-"

"Spider-Man is going to wake up soon. We need to be ready."

"We were never ready for this."

Peter could feel his chest rise and fall. It was hypnotic and he focused on it. He breathed in and out through his mouth. The taste of the suit's fabric stained his mouth. The pressure on his skull grew worse. Thoughts ripped their way through his mind. He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember anything.

"'We weren't ready?' Bullshit." A new voice made him flinch but it came out like a shiver. "We knew this kid was onto us the moment that tourist took that photo. Joan is right. He's going to wake up and I intend that he doesn't walk away or over us."

"We've been after artwork. Not people. This is different."

Peter laid on his side. The pressure on his weight was left side, pressing down onto his shoulder. He could feel his left toe tucked under his right thigh. There was a hand on his shoulder, warming the skin underneath.

"Can't you see what we have here? The most precious part of America? He's even physically red, white and blue?"

"This is a human being, not an artistic representation."

The hand dissipated.

Feeling started to come back. His arms. Something hurt with his arms.

The boss's voice was firm and patient. "We are presented with an opportunity. Lead an icon of this country miles away, knock him out and make the biggest political statement possible. Spider-Man represents everything."

Worse than the growing pain in his arms was his head. The suit was smashed into his face. He thought about opening his eyes but couldn't. Karen wasn't buzzing in his ear. He felt colder. Usually if he was unconscious, he woke up to a WWE countdown from Karen. She would count down from hundred. If he didn't cancel it, she would ping Stark Industries with an emergency signal.

His raspy breathing filled his ears.

"We're essentially committing-committing-"

"Go on. Say it."

He swallowed. He was pushing through a mountain to think.

"He's just young."

"You won't know for sure until the mask comes off. Didn't you try?"

"Even after dissecting that spinal wiring in the neck, it still won't come off. Also Joan smashed up some CPU unit in the back of his head with that baseball bat. That could be part of it."

That explained a lot.

"We haven't been found so the suit must be dead."

"Don't even say that. Don't do anything stupid." A set of shoes walked away.

"Are we sure he's alive? That's a lot of blood on the table," the guy asked.

"You are worrying too much. This is the price of being a superhero. He's breathing, isn't he?" Joan said.

"I know but-"

"Stop worrying about the kid," the boss shouted from the other room. The noise was so abrupt that Peter jerked instinctively. The movement upset his balance. He rolled onto his back, his arms pinned under his weight. The pain in his head tripled. Feet scuffled around him. His stomach twisted into a knot. His face crunched up trying to keep his stomach still.

"There's your proof." Something poked against his side. "We're running out of time. Patrick will choke soon and the feds will show up. Speeding everything up to today, we've pushed it to our limit. Why the hell did Patrick think it was a good idea to go to a public institution today?"

"His holds came in."

The laugh was short and sharp.

"The Statues of History were almost brought down by a damn movie."

The Statues of History. The golden statue. Everything started to come back to him.

Peter took a deep breath, forcing his lung to expand. The air came out in an uncontrollable groan as pain jabbed back. He cracked his eyes open. The lenses were fully contracted, their default setting, and a red light blinked in the left corner. Karen _was_ completely offline. They might not know too much but they were right about something. Stark wouldn't be able to find him.

He swallowed another breath as he focused on the outside. Three people stood around him, two women and a man. A dining room light fixture hung above his eyes. The light stung sending fresh streaks of pain through his brain. The lenses stayed open as he closed his own.

He tried to roll to get his weight off his arms. The surface swayed under him. He was on a table.

"Come on. Get him up. It's getting close to one and the boat is ready." The woman, the boss, with the blonde hair snapped. "The alarms tripped at our old headquarters. They're onto us."

He shifted his head, trying to look at the other two. He couldn't get a full look as two sets of hands grasped him under the shoulders.

"What's happening?" His voice was groggy and sick.

"Bag and ignore him," she said.

They pulled at him and he slid off the table. Limbs weren't working properly and they dragged against the table top. He barely felt like he could get air. There was no indication of a BPM or anything even though he kept looking for it. Plastic things bit against his arms and nicked his skin through the suit.

"What are you guys doing?" This time he sounded a little bit stronger. He pulled apart his arms but at least eight different points of contact locked them together. The table left him and his feet hit the ground. They couldn't rest properly against the floor. The Statues were having to hold him up.

A bag made the world go dark.

Worry got in his throat. This wasn't going right. He tried to get his weight back on his feet. His knees wobbled.

An oversized coat was thrown over his shoulders and zipped up the front. The arms flapped at his side. A hood was pulled up. Nobody would see the suit now. A baseball cap pinched his throbbing skull.

The panic hit him hard. Thoughts ran wild. He was disappearing. These people were erasing him completely. Not even a camera would know who he was now. May wouldn't know where he went. He'd miss his pre-cal exam. He would never make it back to the diner or return that library book or send Ned that video or hug Aunt May or see Tony proud of him or-.

His throat constricted. He couldn't breath. Under everything, he was _exhausted_. Everything that had happened today was piled on top of him. He had fought and fought and now when he needed it the most, the tank was completely empty. The hit to head was the last straw. Peter Parker's body was giving up on him.

His mind swam. He buckled forward. There were shouts but he didn't hear them.

A car engine filled his head. The noises rattled around like needles. His body was thick and sluggish again. Seat cushions pressed into his back and side.

"Should we be worrying?"

"I hate to be like Yvette but you need to stop. He's a superhero. It'll take more than a bat to the head to kill one of these," Joan said.

"This is kidnapping." It was a whisper.

"No, remember that this was and is a performance piece. It always has been."

"Then why aren't we tweeting about this like everything else?"

"Probably because this is America's golden boy and we're about to put him on a boat that's going across the ocean. Get your head in the game, Andrew."

Across the ocean.

That phrase lit him up. No. He couldn't do that. His body woke up and the pain dimmed. The car continued to move. The two kidnappers grew silent. The radio was playing a pop song that MJ had mentioned that she hated. Light drifted through the weave of the fabric.

His head and neck were on something softer. After a moment, he realized that he was resting on someone's lap. Another hand was holding his side and it held onto him firmly, keeping him in place as he slid forward as they pulled to a stop.

"Hey, Iron Man has been spotted in the area that you clobbered Spider-Man…" The voice said above him.

"Well, good thing we're on our way out of the country," Yvette said from what he guessed was the front seat.

Iron Man was looking for him. Peter controlled his breaths. If he started to panic, he might pass out again. A wave of cold came over him and he shivered in the loose coat. The car pulled forward again. They weren't yet at their final destination. Looking at his situation, he wasn't sure where to even start. His head started to spin.

A white board from last week's pre-cal class drifted through his mind. His teacher stood in front of it and tapped each of the steps.

"When you have a word problem, this is how you break it down," She had said.

It felt firm and strong. The fluttering feeling in his chest abated.

"The first of the three Ws," His teacher's voice droned through the sound of the seconds ticking by, "What am I looking for?"

Peter's body shivered. Ignoring that, he pulled away from May's worried face. He was looking to not get on a boat, to get the rest of the Statues of History arrested and recover the artwork if he could. That was a list. Those were the things that he was looking for. Ideally all three of these would happen.

Right now, he would take only one of those. The cloth of the bag tickled as he sucked in air.

Second W. What do I need to find the answer?

Well. He needed to be free. That was the only way that he wasn't going to get on the boat. Negotiation wasn't going to be found here. The police could handle the other two as long as they didn't leave on the boat. Karen's red light blinked at him. He couldn't do this one solo. The car turned and wooden boxes hit each other behind him.

He was running out of time. He had to figure this out. The person above him cleared his throat.

Final W. It almost slipped his mind. He pulled it back. The final W was: What do I already have?

The automatic response was "nothing".

He tossed that out. No. Nobody had time for that attitude. First obstacle was the zip ties. They were plastic but there were quite a few. His fingers were numb because of how tight they were. Was he strong enough to break them right now?

The blackness was clearing from his mind. His heart was pumping steadily in his chest. Karen wasn't showing him his vitals but he knew that there was an uptick towards being normal. The only good thing about being unconscious was his body worked overtime to heal himself. Things felt better this time around. He could probably break out through brute force. He'd have to see.

Then came the question of the webshooters. The suit had been designed that they would still work in total suit failure. He had never had to test it.

Physically, he could be shaker than he guessed. He could start to fight and not manage it. They could have guns. It was a real possibility that they had guns. They probably had guns.

Okay.

Fine.

He fought to stay still.

Don't think about that.

He needed to break free, stop them, locate the art and then get help.

The car rumbled to a stop. Water slapped against the sides of wooden poles. The hand on his side held him tighter. He held his breath. The doors clicked open. He was better off trying all this if he was outside. His head hit the seat as the person next to him slipped out.

"How are we going to keep him on the boat?" The voice above him asked as he was grabbed by the shoulders. Peter let himself be dragged.

"No. We aren't. We'll take him out and then dump him on the emergency boat. It'll drift back on the tide," Yvette's voice said from off in the distance. "It'll take a day or so but this guy will make it home. We couldn't handle him for the whole trip."

They weren't going to take him across the ocean. There was an easy way out. He could play dead and make it out of this. No risk of being shot or hurt. Acid stung his throat. The car seat fell away and he carefully let himself stay limp as the ground hit his shoes. He would be embarrassed and surely everyone would tear him apart but he could get over that.

He was young enough to make mistakes. This wouldn't be the first time, or the last time, when something didn't go according to plan.

Yet.

Peter's feet flattened and gripped against the ground. He could feel the guy behind him hold him up. The ocean breeze tucked in his nose. They didn't know he was awake.

He couldn't do that as tempting as it was. It wasn't possible. He was Spider-Man. The superhero didn't lay down and take it. He fought so that meant that Peter had to fight. He went back to his white board.

There was just one last thing his teacher told him to do.

Plug and chug.

Spider-Man spun on his toes and slammed his head into the guy trying to hold him up. The thunk and shout reverberated in his skull. There was a scream. The momentum staggered them both. Peter lifted his arms as far back as the zip ties and the coat would allow and rammed them into his spine.

They broke in a ripple up his arms. The plastic brushed his body as it fell away.

The Statues shouted and grabbed at him. A body hit the ground in front of Peter. The hands grasping on him felt like tickles as he ripped away at the front of the coat. It tore at the zipper. The metal was cold. His heart pounded. All he needed was to get this bag off and then he could fight properly. The coat fell and he reached for the hood.

A gun went off as something told him to duck. The pop blasted through his right ear. Peter fell, instinctively rolling to the left. It was blind. The wooden panels rocked under the pressure of his back. He was on a dock. His hands slammed into slates, sticking and stopping him from falling off and into the water. His hand went for the cloth on his head.

The gun clicked in his ear.

"Stop."

He stopped before he knew it. His hands touched the fabric. He kicked himself. He shouldn't have stopped. He should have kept going but now it was too late. Adrenaline burned in him.

How could he forget step two of bad people panicking?

"I don't want to shoot you." Yvette's voice was breathy behind him. "But I will do it."

His chest throbbed from the rapid movement. His fingers closed in on the fabric slowly.

A foot came forward. The gun was even closer.

"Stop that."

He started to pull. It drew away from his neck. The hat popped off. It rolled and splashed somewhere beneath him. The planks dug into his knees. He was frozen in a half crouch. She was tall behind him.

"I'm serious." Another shuffle. The gun clicked. The safety had been on.

Moonlight started to come in through folds of the bag. It blinded him through the lenses. It took him blinking about a hundred times to clear it. The edge of the fabric was over the back of his head. Maybe if he continued to go really slowly, he could pull this off.

"Don't make me kill you."

She was serious. Full on serious. Peter's stomach went to iron. There was no other choice. One quick move. He would have to disable her, probably fully.

"I said _stop._"

The muzzle touched his skull.

His heart moved fast.

He didn't have a choice.

He breathed through his nose.

The hood came off in one quick motion, ducking to the side. The gun didn't go off. He rose and spun. His wrists came in front of him. That gun had to go. Yvette was shocked. The gun held somewhere between where his head had been and where he was standing now. His webbing would send the weapon off into the distance.

"Sorry." Peter could hear the grin in his voice as he pressed down hard on the deployers on his wrists. "You didn't say 'please' once."

They hissed. Her eyes dropped down and then a smile to match his came on her face.

"And you need to look before you are _that_ grandiose."

He followed her glance.

Two cuffs of shiny duct tape covered his webshooters. Dribbles of web leaked from under his wrists. The shock cut so deep that he took a step back. No one had ever stopped this part of him before. It shouldn't be possible.

"Also, I keep my promises. Sorry, kid. This one isn't on me."

His knees dropped before he processed the words. The light from the gun dazzled him and the bang rang in his ears. Peter's right shoulder twisted backwards strangely and he fell backwards onto air. Yvette's face flashed with regret before she disappeared from his sight.

He was freefalling. Instinctively, he aimed his wrist to catch the edge of the dock above him with webbing. That wouldn't work. Stretching out a hand, he reached for a pole. His fingers scraped against the wood but stuck. The jerk yanked up the injured shoulder and he slammed into it not being able to get his feet around in time to soften the blow. A couple tears rolled off his cheek.

Yvette yelled something above him. Feet pounded against the dock. Something with wheels was going towards the boat.

The ocean splashed against his shoes.

There wasn't time to look at his shoulder. This wasn't the first time he had been shot. The less he looked at it, the better. Cold liquid oozed down his back. It wasn't bad, he promised. He wasn't sure who he was promising. Plastering himself against the pole, he yanked at the tape. It tightened and lengthened but didn't let go.

"Come on," he muttered and felt for the little knife on his belt. They could have taken that too. The hilt was a welcomed weight in his hand. The footsteps were further away. He glanced. A boat's hull was a couple hundred feet away. He bit onto the tape through the fabric, lifting it up and away. Sliding the knife underneath, he sawed.

His right hand shook. The gunshot wound wasn't that bad. He pushed the knife harder. It slipped up and down before snapping through. The knife flew out of his numb fingers and splashed into the ocean.

One webshooter it was.

He tested it. The web shot out strong and true. Good. Attaching a strand further down the dock, he swung out. The spray tickled. As he gained on them, he took in what he could see. The three Statues hauled a wagon that had a woman shaped bagged item in it. Yvette had her gun in her free hand. Even looking at it made his shoulder twitch.

He did congratulate himself. He was free. The first step was painfully finished. Now onto step two: stop them.

Spider-Man appeared swinging above the deck. Yvette stopped, her hands coming together to fire the gun. Now his webshooter worked like a dream. The weapon shot out of her hand covered in white. It hit the deck with a clunk. The next shot was a cleaner one. The webbing tangled around Yvette's legs.

Peter didn't watch her fall to the ground. Instead he handled his own landing. It ended up being a roll, the edges of the wood biting hard into his shoulder. Something tore further. His weight came back onto his feet and he addressed the final two Statues. One was sprinting down the deck. That one fell with a scream as his food was webbed to the wood.

He breathed deeply, controlling the pain as he turned to the last man. Blood was dripping down his chest now. This was something that he was going to feel tomorrow and the day after. Part of him groaned, the day after was Monday.

Well, he should pen that in as the worst Monday on record.

The last Statue stood with his hands in the air. He hadn't moved from his place next to the wagon. The ocean continued to beat against the dock. Peter straightened forcing everything back into alignment. The moon was bright. Peter squinted through it with wide open lenses.

"I'm not going to fight you, Spider-Man." The Statue's voice shook and his hands went higher. "I won't kidnap people. I was never for it."

Now Peter was the one shaking. He didn't need to wonder why.

"We're cool," He said but even then he knew better. "Can you put your hands on the rail? I've gotta…anyways."

The Statue nodded and moved accordingly. Yvette was yelling something but Peter couldn't care less about what was coming out of her mouth. Peter tried to be more careful as he immobilized him, making sure that nothing got on his clothes or shoes. The web usually lasted a bit longer on inorganic materials.

"Will the boat leave without you?"

The guy shook his head. "I'm the captain."

A wave of exhaustion hit again. It was over. The rest of the stolen items were probably on the boat and if he wasn't lying, then they were safe as well. Maybe he could skate through after the police arrived and get a ride back somehow.

Mr. Stark was looking for him. He would probably order him a cab or something. He'd left his backpack on the top of the Met. His back ached even worse. Well, there was another stop before bed. His stomach reminded him that it existed as well. Maybe there were two more stops in his future.

"Hey Karen, call emergency services, would you?"

Nothing.

Right.

He sighed and started to walk over towards his helpful baddie. "Can I borrow your phone?"

"Only Yvette was allowed to have a phone. Security reasons. Sorry."

Peter heard the splash as something hit the water. Of course.

"Alright. I'll be back. Don't move."

He turned back without waiting for them to say anything. There was a limp in his step as he headed towards suburbia.

* * *

_So a couple fun facts about this chapter: I wrote the majority of this waiting for my car was in the shop. It was a very expensive writing session. Peter's little knife is becoming somewhat of a signature of mine. I think it's shown up in almost everything I've written for SM one way or another. This is the _biggest_ chapter. 4,000 words is too many for my taste but the story demanded it. _

_The Statues are defeated and Peter is beyond exhausted. __I spooked myself with how dark this got for a second. __What did you all think? _

_Sorry for the day late posts. I have been called back to work and well...I am as exhausted as Peter. _

_Let me know what you think! __One more chapter (maybe two?) to go._

_Thank you for reading as always,_

_Quin_


	19. 2:00

**2:00 a.m.**

Mrs. Dotson's eyebrows didn't rise as Peter limped to the diner door. Through the glass, she looked small behind the counter on the other side of the diner. Her book lowered in her hands. He paused with his hand on the push bar. His suit was bloodstained, his backpack dragged over only one shoulder and he smelled of ocean and hydrogen peroxide. The blood would come out but it looked bad.

He was a walking health hazard.

He popped it open and stuck his head in. "Hey Mrs. Dotson…can I come in?"

She scanned over him and placed the bookmark in her paperback. "We're always open for Spider-Man. The usual?"

"That would be great." He couldn't help the smile on his face as the door chimed closed. He scuffed his shoes over the mat although that wasn't where much of the dirt was. The diner was empty. All the booths were shiny and clean and the floor shined with wax. The grips on his shoes slid over it and the flowery scent.

She flicked her hand at him. "Lock the door. It's late."

Mrs. Dotson thought it was late?

Mrs. Dotson never thought it was late

What time was it? He paused to check for the fiftieth time for Karen's helpful UI. Nope. She was still dead. Mr. Stark had taken one look at the back of the suit and asked him if he salsaed with a paper shredder. Even now, he could feel the exposed wires prickling the back of his suit.

Stark Tech couldn't be hacked.

Well, unless your name was Ned Leeds.

He snapped the lock on the door.

He pulled out his phone and his head snapped back up to Mrs. Dotson who was dealing him cards at the bar.

"It's two!" How did it get to that late? The police had taken a moment, the medical care was a bit more and then there was the helicopter ride but it couldn't be that late.

"Yes. It is two." She nodded, counting cards off quietly to herself.

"I've come by before and you've been closed. Shouldn't you be home?"

Mrs. Dotson placed the last card on the counter and then eyed him. "We saw the news. Do you want an ice pack for that shoulder?"

"It's not that bad, promise." He slid onto the bar stool. Getting his weight off his feet felt heavenly. Everything was stiffening up. He imagined that being old was like this.

In truth, the anesthesia hadn't worn off. His nurse had loaded up her syringe with more than usual before getting to work.

She hadn't been happy to see him limp into her ambulance. He wasn't honestly sure if it was the wound, being awake so late, or that he had dragged her down to the middle of nowhere New Jersey, otherwise known as Red Bank. He needed to find that on a map. Still he was thankful for the neat line of stitches from where the bullet had stripped the top of his shoulder and the tiny pat that she had given him on the way out.

"Regular rummy. Playing gin would be unfair to you." Mrs. Dotson lifted her cards but didn't change her focus.

"It's only forty stitches." He added. He had been surprised at the small number. Everything seemed small compared to the 150 incident of a couple months ago. How was he supposed to know that the building was going to collapse?

Still silence.

"I bet you it won't even scar."

She sighed and discarded. "We will find out, won't we Spider-Man?"

"Remind me in a few weeks." He took her card and removed one of his own. The numbers, suits and rules were blending together in his mind.

At some point, he had gotten his third or forth wind for the day. It could have been when he was flying over the city in that helicopter or guzzling down the most amazing bottle of water that his EMT had put in his hands. Either way, after getting his stuff, he hadn't gone home. Instead, he had finally turned in May's overdue library book and then felt strong enough to stop by _Joe__'s_. He was far too close to turn back when he started to fade.

He placed his elbows on the table and tucked his toes under the foot ring. The lights weren't flickering, he realized. Mrs. Dotson hummed some song under her breath as she did her turn. Something close to contentment was rolling over him. Sitting here, being still, it felt good. The Statues of History being caught allowed him to turn off a bit. Mr. Stark hadn't said anything as they had rolled the T-Rex skull and the other statues away.

Peter had seen it though.

Iron Man had nodded towards him.

Even thinking about it brought a sense of peace back over him. He'd store that memory as a happy one.

The rhythmic nature of the card game made the minutes roll by. The cut on his hand was mostly healed as he worked the deck and the cards. The paper snapped against each other as he laid down his first suit.

Mrs. Dotson pulled on her glasses to glare at it.

"Hmmm perhaps we should not have stayed open for you."

"But I like your pizza."

Now she looked at him squinting through the glasses. "You do? We've never been sure. I thought you were taking advantage of old people."

He snorted. Somehow that was the funniest thought to him.

"Mrs. Dotson." Peter leaned across the bar. "I love your pizza."

"Good, I thought so," she said and laid down more cards than he did and a better suit on top of it. She had soundly won the game unless luck was really on his side.

He sputtered something unintelligible.

"You've been beat today but I'm an old lady." Her cards came up to hide her smile.

All he could do was shake his head and lay down one more card on her suit. Delight came off her as he took it wordlessly. You know, it wasn't always about winning, was it?

It was only a few turns later that Joe came out with the pizza warmed and in a to go bag. The smell made his stomach crawl on itself. He pressed the cards against the counter so he wouldn't snatch the bag immediately. As Mrs. Dotson had done, he looked him over with a curl of a frown.

"It's just a scratch." Peter beat him to it and pulled the money that he had prepped. "Take this. Please. I know I owe you probably more but it's what I got."

The man's face turned to disagreement. Peter slid off the stool and put the folded twenty on the bar. It was stiff with ocean salt.

"I really _really_ appreciate you staying up late for me. Will you be going to bed soon, I hope?" The change in topic was glaring and he hoped that they would get the hint. The old couple looked at each other. Peter tried to arrange himself causally but he couldn't get his arms to cross naturally in any way.

"Alright," he said and slid the box across the table.

He paused as he opened the cash register and looked at Peter, all of him, with the dirt, stains, blood and smell.

"How _was_ your day?"

Peter thought about it, _all _of it, from the library to the ballet classes to the movie to the kidnapping. His headache hadn't left from being knocked out and he was sure that he might have a scar from that bullet if he wasn't careful. Yet, he got to see those statues start their way home. He'd hung out with MJ. He got to have lunch with Mr. Stark. May's library book was returned. The pre-cal homework was done.

"You know what?" Peter nodded, tucking the box under one arm. "It was pretty alright, almost normal."

"You're a bit wrong in the head, Spider-Man."

He shrugged and wished them good night as he headed.

They might have a point.

But this was all pretty fun.

* * *

_Just the epilogue left..._


	20. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"Peter, you need to make it a priority to get in your bed when you get home."

"Hmmm."

"Couches are for naps."

"It's like…a 5 a.m. nap."

"Not cutting it mister."

"Ok."

"Hey. Why is there blood on your shirt? Part of faking getting shot?"

"No. I got shot."

"Peter Parker you promised never to lie-"

"No, no, no, this was _after _I told you I wasn't shot."

"You got shot after telling me you actually didn't get shot?"

"…yeah."

"Is it bad?"

"Nah."

"We will talk about this tomorrow."

"Ok."

"Off to bed."

"Ok."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

"Wait is that more pizza?"

"Yeah."

"You actually do love me!"

"Good night, May."

* * *

_And there we have it!_

_Thank you all so much for tagging along with me. I really appreciate it if you made it to the end. It has certainly been a ride. This thought was egging me for months while writing other fics and I am so pleased that finally I can lay it to rest. 24 Hours in Peter Parker's Life is out of my head._

_As always, thank you for reading along. I know I don't write the stuff that people come to read (romance, heavy action, angst city, AUs, canon breaking shifts, etc) so I'm so thankful for each and every one of you. I hope I got a laugh out of you at one point or another._

_Up next for me? Well...I am returning to _The Stragglers. _It was a series of short stories based around Peter, MJ and Ned and best to say, hilarity and tomfoolery ensues. Tony is drunk in one story. It's a good time and accidentally is turning more into a continuous series of short stories and a romance? _

_If that surprised you, trust me, it was a surprise to me too._

_I was posting to that when everyone's life went on hiatus this year. Go to my profile and follow it. Updates will start next week._

_But let me know first what you thought of 24 Hours. What did you think? Could you survive Peter's life?_

_Thank you for reading as always._

_Quin_


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